FRAGMENTS 

h 

NORMAN  BRIDGE 


GIFT   OF 


\c* 


Fragments 


Fragments 

AND  ADDRESSES 


BY 


NORMAN  BRIDGE,  M.  D.,  A.  M. 

Author  of  "The  Penalties  of  Taste," 

"The  Rewards  of  Taste"  and 

"House  Health" 


BIRELEY    &    ELSON 

LOS  ANGELES 

MCMXV 


COPYRIGHT,  1915.   BY 
BIRELBY  &  ELSON  PRINTING  CO. 

Published  April,  1915 


, 


PRESS  OF 

BIRBLEY  &  ELSON  PRINTING  Co. 

LOS  ANGELES 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

EL  LIBRO        *     .  .       .        •       •  -     •       •       •  1 

A  BUTTERCUP        .   •    .  '  :' -      ...      *       •  '"...  5 

THE  BURDENS  OF  CONVERSATION     .       v       .       .  9 

THE  PHYSICAL  BASIS  OF  HYPERCRITICISM       .       .  35 

CONSERVATION  FOR  THE  INDIVIDUAL        .        .        .  57 

AM  I  MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER?      ....  83 
THE  ULTIMATE  GOAL    .       *       .       .       .       .109 

EDWARD  WALLER  CLAYPOLE  .        .        .        •        •  129 

BRONZE  BUST  OF  PROF.  CLAYPOLE       .       .       .  151 
INDUCTION  ADDRESS        .        .        .        •       •        .159 

CHARLES    DWIGHT    WILLARD        .       .       .        .  169 

THE  SOUTHWEST  MUSEUM 179 

VERMONT        .        «        .        ...        .        .  197 

THE  EDGE  OF  THE  CLIFF       .       .       .       .        •  209 

WOMEN  IN  BUSINESS     .                ....  215 

COMMENCEMENT  ADDRESS 229 

THE  BEST  BATH  FOR  MANKIND     ....  251 

THE  DRAUGHT  FETISH 263 

PASADENA  ARCHITECTURE 271 

THE  YOSEMITE  IN  WINTER 281 

AN  AMERICAN  PROGRAM 293 

PREVENTION  OF  RAILROAD  ACCIDENTS     .        .        .  301 

THE  MASTODON 315 

AN  ELDERLY  WOMAN    .        .        .        .        .        .  325 

To  AN  OLD  BROOM        ...  333 


rs 


13540 


El  Libro 


El  Libro 


With  lading  of  knowledge  from  work-time 

brought — 

And  temper  of  wisdom  from  full  life  giv 
ing— 

A  book's  the  recorded  breath  of  thought, 
From  a  soul  that's  toiled,  to  the  thought 
ful  living. 


Buttercup 


Buttercup 


(On  receiving  a  buttercup  dug  by  a  friend  from  beneath  the 
snow  on  the  Rocky  Mountains.) 


Far  from  its  home  in  meadows  fair, 
In  sunny  vale  and  grateful  air ; 
In  frigid  clime,  on  rugged  steep, 
Beset  by  frost  on  mountain  sweep, 
Beneath  the  snows  enshrouding  deep, 
This  flow'ret  grew  and  bloomed. 
On  height,  above  the  homes  of  men, 
So  cold  the  wild  beast  keeps  his  den ; 
Securely  hid  from  human  eyes, 
By  snow  shut  out  from  clouds  and  skies, 
Uncared  for  save  by  One  all-wise, 
It  grew,  till  chance  exhumed. 

Beside  the  heart  of  him  wrhose  hand 
A  thousand  miles  across  the  land 
This  gem  has  sent,  it  comes  to  bear 
A  truth  that's  deep  and  broad  and  fair: 
Beyond  the  kind  Creator's  care, 
That  nothing  lives  or  is; 

7 


BUTTERCUP 

As  sweet  fruits  grow  'neath  roughest 

shell, 

So  in  all  things  deep  lessons  dwell. 
In  every  spot,  or  warm  or  bleak, 
With  petal'd  lips  in  sweetness  meek 
Upturned,  we'll  find,  with  faith  to  seek, 
Some  smiling  flowers  to  please. 


8 


The  Burdens  of  Conversation 


The  Burdens  of  Conversation 


For  a  race  of  social,  biped  animals  that  we 
are,  being  more  or  less  educated,  and  with 
our  education  running  largely  toward  lan 
guage  and  its  relations  to  life  and  living,  it 
would  seem  impossible  that  speech  could  be 
a  burden.  Yet  such  it  is  to  vast  numbers  of 
people ;  and  not  least  to  people  of  much  re 
finement  and  some  education.  Our  fine 
means  of  vocal  interchange  of  thoughts 
ought  always  to  be  a  blessing;  yet  it  has 
to  its  debit  a  great  variety  of  calamities. 
It  leads  its  burden  bearers  into  false  posi 
tions  every  day  of  their  lives;  it  gives  their 
world  a  wrong  impression  and  estimate  of 
them — they  pass  often  for  less  worthy  peo 
ple  than  they  really  are.  It  leads  them 
often  into  associations  that  are  less  helpful 
than  they  deserve  and  need,  and  associations 
it  may  be  that,  once  entered  into,  they  are 
unable  to  escape  from. 

It  leads  often  to  bodily  sickness,  for  it  is 
sometimes  responsible  for  profound  nerv- 

11 


THE  BURDENS  OF  CONVERSATION 

ous  collapse,  even  suggesting  mild  insanity. 
And  where  it  is  not  the  sole  cause,  it  is 
sure  to  be  a  potent  influence  to  help  bring 
it  about  and  to  prevent  recovery. 

In  our  tensive  civilization  we  tend  to  con 
versation  frenzy.  To  be  able  to  talk,  and 
to  talk,  have  come  to  be  a  duty;  and  it  ap 
pears  to  be  not  only  a  duty  to  do  it,  but  to 
do  it  well,  and  the  effort  makes  some  of  us  a 
world  of  trouble. 

Extreme  bashfulness  is  to  the  popular 
mind  a  great  personal  misfortune,  and  it 
concerns  less  the  way  we  sit  or  stand,  or 
what  we  do  with  our  hands,  whether  our 
clothes  are  proper  or  are  worn  correctly, 
than  it  does  that  we  are  able  to  say  the  right 
word,  to  converse  creditably,  and  not  at  the 
most  inopportune  times  to  be  dumb.  Bash- 
fulness  is  always  connected  with  our  talk. 
Nobody  feels  very  deeply  this  sensation 
when  in  a  room  with  people  who  are  forbid 
den  to  speak. 

To  be  dumb  or  inept  when  we  should 
speak  and  speak  well  is  a  calamity,  and 
makes  an  emotional  tension  like  that  of  a 
student  writing  his  final  examination  on 
which  his  diploma,  and  so  perhaps  his 
career  in  life,  may  depend.  It  takes  a  finely 
poised  fellow  to  be  calm,  and  to  undergo  such 
an  ordeal  without  the  fatigue  that  comes  of 
great  nervous  strain.  The  strain  could 

12 


THE  BURDENS  OF  CONVERSATION 

hardly  be  greater  if  he  were  a  prisoner  wait 
ing  for  a  verdict  that  might  send  him  to  the 
penitentiary. 

So-called  nervous  prostration  is  largely 
due  to  three  mental  causes — which  are  com 
monly  called  mental  and  nervous  ones.  They 
are:  first,  overwork  and  therefore  exhaus 
tion  of  the  care-taking  function  of  the 
brain — very  rarely  overwork  of  the  unemo 
tional  thinking  machine ;  second,  worry  over 
what  others  may  be  thinking  and  saying  in 
their  minds  about  us  and  remembering 
about  us ;  and  third,  a  sense  of  duty  to  talk 
to  people,  to  make  conversation,  to  say  the 
right  thing,  to  entertain  others  by  words, 
and  especially  to  acquit  ourselves  creditably 
in  conversation  with  strangers  and  casual 
acquaintances.  We  remember  with  tragic 
emotion  how  some  maladroit  speech  of  a 
neighbor  has  been  carried  from  mouth  to 
mouth  in  the  neighborhood  perhaps  for 
years,  to  be  laughed  at  and  ridiculed ;  and 
the  fear  of  such  a  calamity  befalling  our 
selves  becomes  often  a  positive  obsession. 

One  of  the  most  cardinal  symptoms  is 
fatigue  at  being  obliged  to  entertain  others 
in  talk,  and  the  dread  of  it  as  a  duty.  A 
woman  victim  of  this  disorder  will  go  to 
bed  with  fatigue  after  entertaining  another 
woman  for  twenty  minutes.  She  may  reach 
a  point  where  she  will  refuse  to  see  any 

13 


THE  BURDENS  OF  CONVERSATION 

caller  whom  she  would  feel  obliged  to  enter 
tain.  With  half  the  strain  she  can  go  and 
make  a  formal  call  upon  another  woman,  be 
cause  if  she  feels  herself  getting  nervous 
she  can  say  "good  day"  and  go;  she  cannot 
say  "good  day  and  please  go"  to  a  caller 
whom  she  is  receiving,  and  who  makes  her 
nervous. 

A  man  with  nervous  prostration,  walking 
on  a  public  sidewalk  and  seeing,  half  a  block 
away,  a  friend  approaching  whom  he  must 
stop  and  converse  with  if  he  meets  him, 
will  cross  the  street  and  walk  on  the  other 
side  to  avoid  the  meeting.  These  are  symp 
toms  that  are  well  known  to  every  physi 
cian  of  experience  in  such  disorders. 

There  is  a  mental  cowardice  in  our  con 
versation  that  frequently  brings  us  to  grief. 
We  are  actually  afraid  to  show  our  igno 
rance  of  a  subject  in  conversation,  yet  we 
do  generally  show  it  unless  we  are  adroit 
and  resourceful  in  quick  wit.  Thus  we  hesi 
tate  to  ask  questions  of  an  acquaintance 
and  put  him  at  ease  (and  ourselves  too),  and 
we  try  in  our  conceit  to  think  of  some  talk 
that  will  enable  us  to  air  our  own  knowl 
edge,  and  usually  fail  in  the  attempt;  or 
thereby  we  worry  him  who  might  wish  to 
air  his  knowledge. 

Our  diffidence  and  hesitation  are  dis 
tinctly  egoistic.  We  wish  to  say  the  great 

14 


THE  BURDENS  OF  CONVERSATION 

thing,  the  thing  creditable  to  us,  and  we 
cringe  under  the  fear  that  we  shall  say  the 
uncreditable  thing.  Otherwise,  it  is  our 
interest  in  the  conversation  that  is  upper 
most  in  our  minds,  not  that  of  the  person  we 
are  talking  to.  So  we  hesitate  to  tell  him 
that  he  has  a  splotch  of  mud  on  his  face  or 
his  collar;  and  we  may  hesitate  to  do  a 
needed  casual  kindness  to  another  because 
we  have  not  been  introduced  to  him. 

An  intellectual  man  calls  at  the  house  of 
some  acquaintances.  The  mother  of  the 
house,  unable  to  go  down  at  once  and  re 
ceive  him,  asks  her  young  lady  daughter 
to  go  and  entertain  him  for  a  few  minutes. 
The  daughter  protests  but  finally  goes  with 
fear  and  trepidation,  and  whining  the  ques 
tion  to  herself:  "What  can  I  think  of  to 
talk  to  him  about?''  She  is  not  afraid  of  the 
man  for  he  is  harmless  enough,  but  she  is 
afraid  of  herself  and  the  duty  that  is  scar 
ing  her — the  duty  to  entertain  him  in  con 
versation.  It  does  not  occur  to  her  that  he 
might  entertain  her — had  this  been  in  her 
mind  she  would  have  gone  down  with  joy. 
Nor  does  she  discover  that  by  the  simplest 
device  she  could  make  him  entertain  her. 
But  she  is  oppressed  with  the  duty  to  amuse 
him  and  nothing  else,  and  so  when  she 
reaches  the  reception  room  she  is  in  a  high 
state  of  nervous  tension  and  begins  to  talk 

15 


THE  BURDENS  OF  CONVERSATION 

nervously  and  inanely,  and  rapidly  to  cover 
her  embarrassment,  and  so  both  are  ill  at 
ease  until  the  mother  appears.  Moreover  the 
girl  has  a  poor  opinion  of  herself,  as  he  has 
of  her,  for  she  could  not  possibly  hide  her 
embarrassment  and  want  of  mental  poise. 

How  easy  for  her,  after  a  salutation,  and 
apologies  for  her  mother,  to  have  expressed 
some  interest  in  the  intellectual  things  that 
she  knew  interested  him,  to  have  told  the 
plain  truth  that  perhaps  she  was  herself 
densely  ignorant  of  these  particular  things, 
and  to  have  asked  if  he  could  tell  her  some 
thing  of  them  in  a  way  that  a  very  ignorant 
young  woman  could  understand.  She  would 
then  have  had  him  launched  into  a  fine  con 
versation  that  could  not  possibly  embarrass 
her  (since  she  had  put  herself  at  ease  by  con 
ceding  her  ignorance),  but  that  she  must 
enjoy.  She  would  have  had  another  gain, 
and  he  would  too;  she  would  have  had  his 
high  opinion  of  her — and  both  would  have 
been  happy;  as  it  was  he  was  ill  at  ease  and 
she  was  very  unhappy. 

We  are  not  cowardly  in  conversation  with 
all  people.  We  can  talk  to  people  below  our 
assumed  intellectual  level  without  any  dif 
ficulty  ;  the  young  lady  referred  to  could  talk 
to  the  gardener  and  the  cook  and  probably 
the  chauffeur,  because  here  she  would  have 
felt  herself  strong,  and  because  of  this  she 

16 


THE  BURDENS  OF  CONVERSATION 

would  be  free  to  ask  questions  for  the  pur 
pose  of  learning  and  not  to  make  conversa 
tion.  She  would  not  have  been  on  dress  pa 
rade,  that  is,  on  her  good  manners  or  her 
best  manners,  for  best  manners  always  in 
clude  talking  manners. 

This  cowardice  is  often  the  directing  force 
that  throw's  us  into  a  groove  of  life,  into  a 
career,  that  may  be  very  unfortunate.  It 
leads  us  to  make  the  less  fortunate  selec 
tion  of  associates,  of  traveling  companions, 
of  partners  in  business  and  very  often  of 
husbands  and  wives.  To  avoid  the  burdens 
of  conversation  we  often  select  intellectually 
downward  instead  of  upward.  Other  things 
being  equal  it  profits  us  to  seek  the  higher 
levels  always. 

I  once  knew  a  marriage  engagement  to  be 
broken  off  because  the  girl  found  it  so  hard, 
or  thought  she  did,  to  entertain  her  fiance 
when  he  called  on  her.  The  match  ought  to 
have  been  a  fortunate  one,  especially  for 
the  girl  (for  the  man  was  her  superior),  yet 
the  picture  projected  into  the  future,  of  a 
life-long  task,  daily  and  many  times  a  day  to 
be  obliged  to  find  some  subject  of  conversa 
tion  whereby  she  might  entertain  him,  was 
a  horror  too  awful  for  her  to  contemplate, 
and  so  she  fled  from  it.  The  fact  was  that 
she  did  not  need  to  entertain  him ;  if  she  had 
known  the  beauty  and  secret  of  silence  and 

17 


THE  BURDENS  OF  CONVERSATION 

kept  still  and  been  calm  and  tranquil  about 
it,  he  would  have  entertained  her  every  day 
of  their  lives,  and  abundantly.  She  cudgeled 
her  brain  for  small  talk,  vivacity  and  wit, 
which  she  thought  a  duty,  while  he  would 
have  led  her  into  more  serious  yet  pleasant 
themes  and  paths,  to  her  everlasting  benefit. 

Some  friends  of  mine — a  childless  couple 
of  superior  people — adopted  a  beautiful  lit 
tle  girl.  They  educated  her  well  and  intro 
duced  her  to  many  well-to-do  and  superior 
young  men,  some  of  whom  fancied  her,  but 
she  felt  in  awe  of  them,  she  was  always  shy 
and  retreating  when  they  talked  with  her. 
She  had  no  ideas  or  conversation  in  their 
realm  of  thought.  She  did  not  feel  in  awe 
of  the  grocer's  clerk,  and  she  married  him, 
to  her  permanent  drudgery  and  many  griefs. 

The  ideal  of  conversation  must  always  be 
to  give  and  take;  each  to  speak  and  each  to 
listen,  and  it  must  in  the  main  be  gentle. 
It  should  never  be  the  monopoly  of  one 
without  the  consent  of  the  other.  If  it  is 
this  latter  it  is  an  egoistic  monologue.  But 
sometimes  this  one-sided  converse  is  de 
sired  by  the  quiet  party;  then  it  is  not  a 
monopoly  of  the  one  but  the  tacit  choice  of 
both. 

Some  of  the  most  congenial  and  attached 
pairs  of  friends  are  those  where  the  one  does 
nearly  all  the  talking.  Both  are  perfectly 

18 


THE  BURDENS  OF  CONVERSATION 

satisfied ;  the  one  talks  easily,  his  thoughts 
fall  into  words  readily,  he  thinks  aloud 
well — or  both  think  he  does,  and  he  likes 
to  talk.  The  other  likes  to  hear  him  talk, 
and  will  himself  keep  still  a  whole  evening 
while  the  one  runs  on  in  an  endless  stream 
of  words  that  are  interesting  to  both,  and 
they  will  separate  after  hours  so  spent,  both 
feeling  that  they  have  had  a  good  time  talk 
ing  with  each  other.  And  the  talkative  one 
will  be  loud  in  his  praise  and  appreciation  of 
the  conversational  powers  of  the  other  who 
has  said  hardly  two  dozen  words  during  the 
evening,  and  those  in  assent  or  interroga 
tion,  to  keep  the  voluble  one  talking.  The 
curious  fact  is  that  the  quiet  one  may 
be  unaware  that  the  other  one  has  done 
nearly  all  the  talking;  he  may  think  that  he 
himself  has  done  a  material  part  of  it,  espe 
cially  if  the  talkative  one  has  praised  him 
for  it.  It  is  surprising  what  a  lot  of  wise 
things  we  admit  we  have  said  when  we 
are  praised  for  having  said  them ;  and  after 
we  have  a  few  times  made  the  admission, 
we  come  to  believe  that  we  have  really  said 
them. 

In  an  amusing  stage  performance  that  I 
have  heard  of,  a  wife  is  troubled  by  some 
thing  she  has  unfairly  kept  from  her  hus 
band,  and  is  telling  a  woman  friend  that  she 
is  going  to  confess  to  him  all  about  it.  Just 

19 


THE  BURDENS  OF  CONVERSATION 

then  the  husband  enters  the  room  and  the 
wife  falls  on  his  neck  with  loud  wailing  and 
a  flood  of  tears.  He  tries  to  comfort  her, 
tells  her  to  never  mind,  that  she  is  a  darling, 
and  he  understands,  and  she  must  dry  her 
tears.  She  goes  on  with  her  wailing,  but 
not  a  word  of  her  secret.  Then  she  grows 
quiet  momentarily,  then  bursts  out  again  in 
a  roaring  wail — to  be  again  quieted  in  the 
same  way.  This  scene  is  repeated  several 
times  over  without  a  word  about  any  secret 
or  anything  else;  finally  she  becomes  calm 
enough  for  the  husband  to  go  back  to  his 
business.  Then  she  turns  to  her  woman 
friend  in  a  dewy  outburst  of  gladness  that, 
as  she  says,  she  has  "told  him  all  about  it." 
Such  things  occur  in  real  life. 

There  is  a  considerable  proportion  of 
women,  in  whose  social  life  the  making  of 
formal  calls  on  their  neighbor  women  is  a 
duty,  who  never  will  call  alone  on  a  stranger 
or  on  one  a  little  strange  or  awe-inspiring. 
They  will  wait  until  some  friend  (or  hus 
band)  can  go  with  them  to  help  in  the  con 
versation — which  they  shirk.  They  dread 
the  talk  burden,  and  they  must  keep  within 
touch  of  some  skirt  or  coat  tail  for  refuge 
from  it.  I  have  known  more  than  one  girl  to 
be  invited  to  a  house  party  or  to  visit  distant 
acquaintances,  who  declined  because  of  this 

20 


THE  BURDENS  OF  CONVERSATION 

very  fear,  although  some  other  excuse  was 
usually  given. 

Bashfulness  is  a  form  of  conceit.  Nobody 
is  very  bashful  who  is  not  forever  thinking 
of  himself.  The  bashful  man  is  afraid, 
fearful;  and  fear  is  a  subjective  emotion. 
No  one  can  thoroughly  exteriorize  his  mind 
who  is  beset  with  fear — fear  is  an  egoistic 
sensation.  No  one  can  converse  easily,  can 
get  away  from  the  thraldom  of  fear  in  con 
versation,  until  he  can  put  away  this  beset- 
ment  of  constantly  and  terribly  thinking  of 
how  he  looks,  acts  and  talks. 

The  bashful  man  can  converse  easily  with 
some  of  his  familiar  and  possibly  convivial 
friends,  because  with  them  he  has  lost  the 
sense  of  fear;  with  them  he  is  not  afraid. 
With  strangers  and  mere  acquaintances  he 
is  afraid,  he  is  shy  and  shuns  them ;  he  fears 
he  will  not  say  the  right  word,  or  look  the 
right  way,  or  act  in  the  right  way.  And  he 
usually  believes  he  is  saying  the  wrong 
thing  or  behaving  badly  whether  he  is  or 
not.  His  conceit  prompts  him  to  try  to  say 
some  surprising  thing  that  he  hopes  will 
impress  others;  he  will  rarely  think  of 
saying  or  asking  the  thing  that  might  help 
or  please  the  others.  If  and  when  he  can 
get  down  from  his  egoistic  pedestal  he  will 
talk  about  simple  things,  will  be  ready  to 
say  he  doesn't  know,  and  to  ask  questions 

21 


THE  BURDENS  OF  CONVERSATION 

that  will  make  conversation  easy  and  de 
void  of  terrors. 

Yet  the  bashful  fellow  often  says  he 
doesn't  know,  because  he  fears  to  get  into 
a  controversy  by  saying  that  he  knows; 
and  he  will  spend  a  whole  evening  in  a  visit 
and  will  confine  his  own  speech  to  saying 
yes  or  no,  or  making  some  wholly  non-com 
mittal  remark  that  cannot  possibly  lead  to  an 
argument;  for  he  hates  argument  at  which 
he  might  be  defeated  and  humiliated.  He 
would  blush  deeply  if  he  were  worsted  in 
argument.  He  blushes  deeply  too  if  he  is 
joked  or  made  fun  of,  unless  with  his 
familiars  with  whom  he  can  joke  back. 

Boys  are  more  self-conscious  than  girls, 
they  are  more  bashful  (especially  in  the 
presence  of  the  opposite  sex  before  whom 
they  desire  to  behave  well)  ;  they  are  more 
conceited  than  girls.  So,  girls  as  a  rule  have 
less  difficulty  in  conversation  than  boys. 
Yet  girls  and  women  are  more  likely  than 
boys  and  men  to  have  the  symptom  group 
called  nervous  prostration,  and  when  they 
have  it  any  forced  conversation  sends  them 
into  collapse. 

The  first  sentimental  fancy  of  a  boy  is 
likely  to  be  for  a  girl  older  than  himself. 
He  finds  it  easier  to  talk  to  and  to  get  on 
with  such  a  girl  than  with  one  of  his  own 
age  or  younger;  he  doesn't  know  why  this 

22 


THE  BURDENS  OF  CONVERSATION 

is  so,  but  the  fact  is  that  she  is  more  likely 
to  help  him  on  in  conversation,  so  he  can 
seem  to  become  really  acquainted  with  her; 
and  on  her  part  she  finds  it  easier  to  have 
some  real  comradery  with  him  than  she  does 
with  a  man  of  her  own  age  or  a  little  older, 
for  with  the  boy  she  feels  no  instinctive  need 
to  avoid  an  unfit  love  scene — the  very  thing 
the  boy  may  incline  to  make;  then,  because 
he  is  younger  she  feels  the  maternal  instinct 
of  helpfulness  toward  him. 

Once  an  older  girl  was  thus  trying  to  help 
a  young  man  in  conversation.  He  was  dif 
fident  and  blushed  much  and  easily.  She 
tried  several  subjects  of  small  talk  to  no 
effect ;  he  would  not  talk  but  would  merely 
grunt  or  answer  in  monosyllables.  Then  she 
thought  of  a  subject  that  must  certainly 
loosen  his  tongue;  that  subject  was  his 
mother.  She  knew  his  mother,  and  she  be 
gan  by  praising  her,  told  him  how  wise  and 
sweet  and  beautiful  she  was,  and  how  glad 
she  knew  he  must  be  to  have  such  a  mother. 
Then  she  stopped  and  waited  for  him  to 
respond.  When  he  perceived  she  was  wait 
ing  for  him  a  hesitating,  rather  silly  smile 
came  over  his  face  and  he  warmed  enough 
to  speak,  but  not  enough  for  a  positive  state 
ment  that  might  challenge  discussion.  He 
merely  said  slowly:  "Yes,  I  rather  like  her 
myself."  Another  girl  at  some  social  func- 

23 


THE  BURDENS  OF  CONVERSATION 

tion  tried  in  vain  to  help  on  a  young  fellow 
in  talk,  but  she  evidently  didn't  have 
the  instinct  of  sympathetic  helpfulness,  the 
mothering  instinct,  for  she  said  finally: 
"Pray,  have  you  no  conversation?" 

There  are  some  people  who  are  not  bash 
ful,  or  at  loss  for  the  right  word,  or  eager 
to  say  some  great  thing,  who  are  yet  self- 
conscious,  apprehensive  and  fearful,  lest  they 
shall  not  be  quite  polite  enough  in  their 
speech  or  generous  enough  to  their  friends — 
and  if  they  happen  to  be  half  sick  or  very 
tired  the  eccentricity  is  increased.  It  leads 
them  into  many  mistakes  and  excesses ;  they 
are  fulsome  in  their  excuses  for  the  things 
that  pertain  to  themselves — their  clothes, 
their  houses  and  their  own  lack  of  courtesy 
(which  is  really  excessive)  ;  they  make  little 
orations  of  praise  to  their  friends  (making 
them  feel  sheepish)  and  even  sometimes 
their  enemies — and  are  charged  with  insin 
cerity  and  affectation  by  their  neighbors. 
They  are  in  trouble  for  fear  they  are  not 
exactly  proper,  the  while  they  are  unproper 
by  the  misuse  of  some  very  good  motives. 
And  they  add  to  their  perplexities  by  covet- 
ousness  of  praise  and  love-words  from 
their  friends,  and  grieve  if  such  words  fail 
or  are  not  cordial  enough.  It  is  hard  to 
be  true  to  ourselves  in  unseeking  candor, 
in  kind  frankness  to  others,  and  not  worry 

24 


THE  BURDENS  OF  CONVERSATION 

about  what  others  will  say  or  think.  If  it 
were  easy  we  might  escape  many  a  nervous 
breakdown. 

Nothing  shows  the  incubus  of  conversa 
tion  better  than  the  various  tricks  that  we 
practice,  mostly  unwittingly,  against  this 
nightmare.  A  study  of  these  tricks  reveals 
some  queer  habits.  Our  forms  of  salutation, 
our  passing  of  the  time  of  day,  show  our 
instinctive  dislike  of  the  frictions  of  conver 
sation  ;  they  are  calculated  to  avoid  contro 
versy  and  argument.  We  say,  "good  morn 
ing" — there  can  be  no  argument  there.  Or 
"it's  rainy  today/'  when  both  know  that  it 
is  raining,  or  "rather  dusty  today,"  when 
the  wind  is  blowing  the  dust  and  leaves  and 
scraps  of  paper  all  about.  We  say  "how  do 
you  do?" — no  contest  is  possible  there,  the 
other  person  must  reply,  and  we  could  hard 
ly  controvert  what  he  says.  But  he  prob 
ably  doesn't  tell  us  how  he  is,  but  says 
"how  are  you?" 

Why  don't  you  salute  your  neighbor 
whom  you  have  called  on  to  ask  his  help  in 
getting  the  street  paved,  with  this  real  busi 
ness  of  your  visit?  You  don't  do  that,  but 
you  tell  him  what  he  perfectly  well  knows, 
that  it  is  a  cold  day.  He  agrees  that  it  is. 
Then  you  may  ask  him  about  his  family  or 
compliment  him  on  his  own  good  appear 
ance  ;  then  you  may  introduce  a  dozen  dif- 

25 


THE  BURDENS  OF  CONVERSATION 

ferent  subjects  about  which  you  feel  sure  he 
agrees  with  you,  to  get  him  into  good  tem 
per  or  more  surely  to  keep  him  so,  before 
you  begin  the  real  business  of  your  call — 
and  all  this  to  avoid  friction,  as  well  as  to 
succeed. 

We  gather,  each  in  his  own  way,  a  lot  of 
stock  subjects  for  talk,  some  stories,  jokes 
and  perhaps  conundrums  to  help  us  out  in 
times  of  trouble.  As  we  meet  on  the  street 
some  of  us  ask  each  other  for  any  new 
stories  both  for  the  sake  of  the  stories  and 
to  replenish  our  equipment  for  conversation. 
We  make  these  stock  facilities  do  duty  on 
many  occasions,  and  we  are  often  eager  to 
tell  them,  because  it  is  so  easy,  and  so  saves 
us  from  embarrassment. 

Some  of  us  are  forever  quoting  from  oth 
ers  as  though  we  had  no  thoughts  of  our 
own.  This  requires  a  good  memory  and 
some  reading;  but  it  is  a  poverty-stricken 
device  at  best. 

Some  of  us,  too,  in  order  to  cover  our 
timidity  often  embellish  our  conversation 
with  mirthless  and  wholly  senseless  giggles 
of  laughter,  and  we  usually  do  it  quite  un 
consciously.  Or  we  have  a  worse  habit — 
but  the  same  in  purpose — of  using  slang, 
or  bravado  or  brusqueness  or  even  profan 
ity  and  vulgarity.  A  middle-aged  superior 
woman,  who  had  suffered  through  life  the 

26 


THE  BURDENS  OF  CONVERSATION 

reputation  of  being  an  abrupt,  brusque, 
slangy  person,  once  told  me  that  this  was 
really  foreign  to  her  nature,  that  she  hated 
it  more  than  her  friends  or  enemies  possibly 
could;  but  that  it  was  a  habit  whose  pur 
pose  was  to  save  her  from  embarrassment 
in  conversation. 

Next  to  this  in  undesirableness  is  a  habit 
of  using  the  most  obvious,  bromidic  com 
monplaces.  It  is  a  refuge  from  embarrass 
ment  for  those  who  have  the  habit;  it  helps 
their  conversation  and  it  is  fortunate  for 
them  that  they  are  generally  unaware  how 
their  talk  strikes  others. 

Various  tricks  with  our  hands  are  as  com 
mon  as  daylight.  We  twirl  our  watch- 
chains  or  our  fingers  or  we  play  with  our 
buttons — the  late  President  McKinley  would 
play  with  the  coat  buttons  of  a  man  with 
whom  he  was  in  earnest,  close  conversation 
till  sometimes  he  tore  them  from  the  coat. 
We  stroke  our  mustaches  or  our  beards,  or 
pull  down  our  vests  or  fold  and  fumble  a 
piece  of  paper;  or  we  make  drawings  on 
paper  as  we  talk — all  to  ease  our  embarrass 
ment  or  to  help  our  mental  attention.  I 
know  a  dozen  men  who  in  any  business  dis 
cussion  must  always  be  drawing  some  geo 
metric  figures  on  a  writing  pad  or  paper. 
But  we  never  do  any  of  these  tricks  in  si 
lence,  positively  only  and  always  while  talk- 

27 


THE  BURDENS  OF  CONVERSATION 

ing  or  needing  to  talk,  and  the  fact  that  we 
fall  into  such  habits  and  in  such  ways  is 
proof  positive  of  the  burden,  if  not  the  fear, 
of  conversation. 

Can  this  burden  be  dropped  or  shifted? 
Can  we  increase  our  capacity  for  the  best 
verbal  sociability?  To  find  the  way  would 
be  great  good  fortune  to  most  of  us,  for 
it  would  regenerate  us  and  make  us  strong 
against  some  kinds  of  misery.  It  could  be 
done  for  some  of  us,  but  with  difficulty, 
for  it  requires  a  great  amount  of  self-study 
and  self-discipline,  and  most  of  us  are  lazy. 
If  we  are  ever  to  accomplish  it,  it  must  be 
by  our  own  efforts,  for  others  can  do  little 
for  us  that  they  will  have  the  wisdom,  tact, 
and  inclination  to  do.  We  must  learn  the 
secret,  make  our  own  rules;  then  our  own 
courage,  wit  and  continuity  must  save  us, 
if  ever  we  are  saved. 

Next  we  must  learn  to  stand  more  se 
curely  on  our  own  moral  feet.  We  must 
think  more  about  being  consciously  right 
and  essentially  proper,  than  of  what  trifling 
things  some  others  may  say  or  think  of  us. 
If  we  are  consciously  right  we  can  afford 
to  smile  and  be  satisfied,  as  we  can  afford  to 
ignore  and  forget  trifles  in  what  we  say  or 
what  is  said  to  us. 

Then  we  must  learn  the  value  and  beauty 
of  little  talk  and  of  silence,  and  the  joy  of 

28 


THE  BURDENS  OF  CONVERSATION 

those  friendships  that  are  so  intimate  and 
genuine  as  to  make  constant  conversation 
unnecessary.  Until  we  have  reached  that 
plane  we  are  outside  of  the  glory  of  the 
choicest  fellowships,  and  if  we  know  this 
secret  and  practice  it  with  our  friends, 
we  can  easily  use  it  more  or  less  with  our 
acquaintances. 

Next  we  ought  to  put  away  our  conceits 
and  be  to  our  friends  and  others,  as  simple 
learners  anxious  to  hear  and  to  learn,  and 
never  afraid  about  our  ignorance,  and  before 
we  can  put  away  our  egoism  we  must  know 
that  we  have  it,  and  that  we  have  been  sin 
ners  in  this  sort ;  then  we  are  ready  for 
real  improvement.  They  are  cheap  scien 
tific  experts  on  the  witness  stand  who  are 
afraid  to  say  they  don't  know.  Those  of 
the  highest  attainments  and  greatest  learn 
ing  find  it  most  easy  to  acknowledge  their 
limitations,  as  they  are  the  most  humble 
toward  the  truth.  This  kind  of  humility  will 
help  us  over  our  bashfulness,  and  it  will 
shift  or  shunt  the  load  of  our  burden  to  fresh 
bearing  places  on  our  backs. 

Finally  we  must  study  the  art  of  conversa 
tion  as  best  we  can,  and  so  try  to  make  it 
easy.  And  it  is  possible ;  more  than  that, 
it  is  easy  if  we  get  the  grasp  of  the  best 
formula  and,  what  is  the  hardest  task  of  all, 
get  and  keep  control  of  ourselves.  For  a 

29 


THE  BURDENS  OF  CONVERSATION 

terse  statement  of  a  good  formula  I  quote 
here  from  an  obscure  book,  with  some  para 
phrasing: 

"The  recovery  from  this  particular  talk 
disease  .  .  .  depends  much  on  the  abil 
ity  of  the  victim  to  evoke  conversation  by 
others,  while  he  has  pleasure  in  holding  his 
tongue  and  keeping  his  own  powers  in  re 
serve.  And  that  ability  is  nothing  but  the 
art  of  making  conversation  easy.  This  art 
is  a  natural  gift  to  many  people,  and  is  the 
envy  of  almost  every  bashful,  diffident  and 
self-conscious  person. 

"To  acquire  it,  to  become  adept  at  it,  may 
well  be  the  ambition  of  all  the  victims  of 
this  unfortunate  malady. 

"Nor  is  the  art  difficult  or  hard  to  learn. 
Anybody  can  have  it  if  he  has  sufficient  for 
titude  and  self-control,  and  will  persist  in 
patience.  But  he  must  first  be  born  again 
to  a  few  cardinal  truths  that  are  always 
wholesome.  To  encourage  conversation  is 
to  bring  out  and  enlarge  the  powers  of  the 
other  person,  and  these  cardinal  truths  con 
cern  his  interest  and  fate  most  intimately. 
When  we  consider  the  good  of  the  other 
person,  we,  by  so  much,  sink  our  own  selfish 
ness  and  conceit — and  that,  besides  being 
good  in  itself,  is  the  true  key  to  the  art  of 
conversation.  To  think  of  the  other  per 
son  and  his  needs  is  an  act  of  genuine 

30 


THE  BURDENS  OF  CONVERSATION 

altruism,  and  leads  us  not  merely  away  from 
our  own  selfishness  but  away  from  our  bash- 
fulness  (which  is  a  phase  of  selfishness),  so 
that  our  powers  of  rational  talk  increase. 
This  kind  of  an  effort  is  thus  a  means  of 
grace;  and  it  brings  us  surprising  rewards. 
It  is  a  missionary  movement  whose  value 
nobody  will  ever  question.  It  helps  those 
who  receive,  and  it  transfigures  those  who 
give. 

"When  one  sets  out  in  this  sort  of  self- 
improvement  there  are  a  few  things  he  will 
do,  and  certain  things  he  will  positively  not 
do — and  wherein  he  will  not  air  his  own 
things,  his  people,  his  gifts,  or  himself,  save 
in  the  most  tentative  way,  and  to  bring  out 
the  other  person.  He  will  hold  in  abeyance 
the  subjects  he  knows  most  of,  or  speak  of 
them  with  apologetic  hesitation,  and  seek 
the  ones  the  other  person  is  most  familiar 
with.  He  will  ask  gentle  questions  in  a 
spirit  of  confidential  deference  so  as  not  to 
frighten  his  friend,  for  questions  asked  in 
a  conceited  or  pushing  way  are  sure  to 
scare  the  other  one  dumb.  If  he  enters  into 
real  controversy  the  conversation  may  stop 
suddenly;  but  the  gentle  raillery  of  sham 
controversy  may  help  it  on.  Too  intense  an 
interest  in  the  subject  of  the  talk  may 
frighten  the  other  person,  as  it  will  make 
him  hesitate  to  change  the  topic  when  he  is 

31 


THE  BURDENS  OF  CONVERSATION 

tempted  to  do  so.  Quizzing,  joking,  or 
ridiculing  another  often  stops  his  conversa 
tion  like  water  on  a  flame. 

"Our  artist  in  talk  will  maintain  a  demure 
mood  of  interested,  rather  ignorant  inquiry, 
not  critical  or  protesting,  but  sympathetic 
and  indulgent.  He  will  not  in  this  go  to 
the  opposite  extreme  of  trying  to  make  the 
other  person  do  all  the  talking,  or  allow  him 
to  feel  that  his  talk  is  taken  critically,  for 
that  would  soon  seal  his  lips.  He  will 
change  the  subject  of  conversation  as 
needed,  so  as  to  prevent  mental  fatigue,  and 
save  the  talk  from  running  dry.  He  will  not 
decorate  his  part  of  the  conversation  with 
silly  giggles.  He  will  learn  just  how  much 
to  keep  silent,  how  much  to  inquire,  how 
much  to  tell  of  what  he  knows,  how  much 
to  defer,  in  order  to  put  the  other  one  com 
pletely  at  his  ease  and  let  him  find  his 
tongue.  He  will  be  able  to  rise  to  large 
things  and  to  descend  to  small  and  simple 
ones  with  equal  ease  and  facility,  as  the 
knowledge,  ignorance,  and  temper  of  the 
other  person  seem  to  require.  Thus  he  will 
become  a  skilled  performer  in  an  art  that  is 
greater  than  any  of  the  so-called  fine  arts, 
because  it  helps  in  a  larger  way  the  two 
classes  of  people  who  are  most  in  need  of 
its  benefits,  those  who  can  talk  and  ought 

32 


THE  BURDENS  OF  CONVERSATION 

to  listen,  and  those  who  would  listen  and 
ought  to  talk. 

"While  he  does  these  things  he  is  sub 
merging  his  own  conceits  and  egoism,  for 
getting  his  own  bashfulness,  and  coming  to 
be  himself  at  ease.  Thereby  he  makes  a 
distinct  growth  in  versatility  for  himself; 
he  broadens  his  own  horizon  and  makes  his 
attainments  worthy  of  his  own  pride.  Bet 
ter  than  all  else,  he  acquires  a  mood  of  mind 
and  a  serenity  of  spirit  that  will  contribute 
powerfully  to  his  own  permanent  comfort 
and  force.  At  the  same  time  the  other  per 
son  learns  to  talk  almost  without  knowing 
it,  and  warms  with  joy  at  his  own  expand 
ing  powers.  Soon,  too,  he  discovers  that 
even  his  rude  grasp  of  this  new  art  gives 
him  fresh  vantage  for  higher  attainments. 
He  has  found  the  key  to  other  arts  beyond." 

The  great  remedy,  then,  for  the  burdens, 
is  at  bottom  unselfishness,  honesty  and 
kindness,  with  a  little  courage — nothing 
more  and  nothing  else.  It  seems  natural  to 
add  courage  as  one  of  the  needed  qualities, 
but  the  moment  we  can  put  aside  our  selfish 
egoism,  it  is  easier  to  talk ;  when  we  can 
put  our  minds  into  an  attitude  of  absolute 
candor  and  frankness  as  to  the  things  that 
we  prefer  to  talk  about,  we  find  conversa 
tion  still  easier;  and  when  in  addition  we 
are  filled  with  a  sense  of  kindliness  to 

33 


THE  BURDENS  OF  CONVERSATION 

others,  conversation  is  so  easy  that  hardly 
an  effort  of  courage  is  needed,  for  there  is 
no  longer  any  fear;  courage  is  only  needed 
when  there  is  fear. 


34 


The  Physical  Basis  of 
Hypercriticism 


The  Physical  Basis  of 
Hypercriticism 


In  every  sort  of  human  effort  which  in 
volves  expertness,  or  where  this  may  be  an 
advantage,  aspiring  souls  have  always  tried 
to  excel. 

When  the  work  signifies  a  high  degree  of 
skill,  and  especially  when  its  products  are 
entertaining  and  pleasure-giving,  we  call  it 
an  art.  So  we  have,  among  other  arts, 
music,  sculpture,  painting,  engraving,  archi 
tecture,  decorating,  book-binding,  acting  and 
literature  in  manifold  forms.  These  arts  are 
both  part  and  proof  of  a  higher  civilization. 
In  any  community  they  are  one  of  the  meas 
ures  of  social  perfection. 

The  line  of  demarcation  between  art  on 
the  one  hand  and  work  or  drudgery  on  the 
other  is  plain,  although  it  does  not  always 
seem  to  be.  The  man  who,  for  example, 
does  a  piece  of  handcraft,  like  binding  a 
book  or  making  a  door,  always  in  the  one 
fixed  way  and  as  any  other  of  a  hundred 

37 


THE  PHYSICAL  BASIS 

men  would  do  it,  is  working  at  a  trade.  But 
the  moment  he  varies  his  work  by  some 
new  excellence  and  by  putting  his  own  bet 
ter  taste  into  it,  that  moment  it  becomes  an 
art,  for  it  has  the  stamp  of  his  per 
sonality  in  an  effort  toward  variety  or  to 
make  it  a  little  superior  to  anything  else  of 
its  kind. 

The  people  who  love  and  apprehend  the 
arts  in  any  degree,  fall  into  a  sort  of  nat 
ural  classification  regarding  them.  First  of 
all,  there  are  those  to  whom  some  of  the 
arts  are  a  regular  vocation,  and  by  which 
maybe  they  earn  their  living.  This  is  a  small 
company  of  mostly  superior  people  with 
sensitive  mental  and  emotional  organiza 
tion,  and,  except  as  to  a  few  (mainly  of  the 
literary  ones),  of  a  critical  judgment  in  a 
narrow  field.  Many  of  them  are  persons  of 
mental  breadth  and  balance,  but  the  tend 
ency  of  their  vocation  is  rather  against  the 
best  mental  poise,  as  it  is  against  a  broad 
mental  equipment  and  general  world  wis 
dom.  We  do  not  look  for  great  philoso 
phers  among  the  professional  artists,  al 
though  we  occasionally  find  one  there. 

Next  are  those  who,  loving  some  of  the 
arts  and  having  pleasure  in  their  study, 
practice  some  of  them  as  an  avocation  or  a 
diversion.  They  do  this  more  or  less  for 
amusement,  or  from  ambition  to  become 

38 


OF  HYPERCRITICISM 

real  artists  ultimately;  some  of  them  do  it 
from  an  unexpressed  desire  to  be  admitted 
to  a  certain  choice  set  of  people.  This  is  a 
much  larger  class  than  the  first.  It  includes 
all  the  dabblers,  some  who  are  a  genuine 
credit  to  the  work,  and  a  multitude  of  the 
hopeless  whose  efforts  are  futile  if  not  gro 
tesque. 

Third  comes  the  class  of  us  who  do  not 
practice  any  of  the  arts,  either  as  experts  or 
amateurs,  but  who  desire  to  have  a  fairly 
critical  knowledge  of  some  one  or  several  of 
them ;  and  who  are  entertained  and  profited 
by  the  contemplation  of  them.  This  class 
numbers  vastly  more  than  the  other  two 
combined ;  it  includes  nearly  all  the  rest  of 
the  people  of  even  moderate  education.  It 
also  includes  certain  folks  who  by  our 
definitions  have  little  or  no  education.  It 
embraces  the  vast  army  of  us  who  would 
like  to  have  correct  notions ;  who  wish  to 
be  enlightened  about  the  arts,  and  that  with 
out  too  severe  a  wrench  of  whatsoever  dis 
criminating  taste  we  have,  which  really  be 
longs  to  us  and  is  not  borrowed  or  put  on 
like  our  clothes;  for  we  are  disturbed  in  our 
minds  to  know  what  real  art  is  and  why 
there  are  so  many  standards  among  differ 
ent  students  of  the  subject,  and  so  much 
change  in  them  from  decade  to  decade. 

39 


THE  PHYSICAL  BASIS 

Certain  ideals  of  superiority  come  with 
our  striving  for  excellence,  but  not  wholly 
on  account  of  it.  They  come  somewhat 
from  changes  in  fashion;  we  grow  out  of 
them ;  anyway,  we  leave  them,  then  come 
back  to  them  perhaps  in  after  years,  as  we 
have  done  in  architecture  and  furniture. 
The  criterions  are  more  or  less  personal, 
and  are  often  based  on  individual  predilec 
tion ;  one  person  perhaps  likes  green  tints, 
another  red,  another  purple.  Certain  liter 
ary  phrases  are  pleasing  to  some  people  and 
offensive  to  others.  I  have  a  friend  who 
never  could  approve  of  a  piece  of  literature 
if  it  contained  the  expression  "it  appeals  to 
me."  And  I  knew  a  good  man  who  had  some 
literary  taste,  who  never  used,  and  hated 
to  see  in  print  the  words  "husband"  and 
"wife."  The  standards  of  a  man  at  suc 
cessive  periods  of  his  life  or  of  his  artistic 
growth  differ.  He  grows  as  his  experience 
enlarges;  whether  he  grows  upwards  or 
sideways  or  in  a  gyrating  fashion,  depends 
on  numerous  circumstances.  But  he  changes 
more  or  less  through  the  years,  unavoid 
ably;  and  he  is  sure  to  think  he  grows. 

As  we  try  to  enlarge  our  knowledge  of  an 
art  we  naturally  turn  for  counsel  to  those 
who,  we  fancy  from  their  reputation  (or  be 
cause  they  say  or  admit  it),  know  more 
about  it  than  ourselves.  And  if  we  do  not 

40 


OF  HYPERCRITICISM 

practice  as  a  vocation  or  an  avocation  any 
of  the  arts,  we  still  like  to  feel  that  we  have 
the  best  taste  regarding  them.  Few  of  us  do 
practice  any  of  these  arts,  even  so  far  as 
to  dabble  in  them ;  but  some  knowledge  of 
them  and  some  discrimination  about  them 
are  a  part  of  any  broad  education,  and  es 
sential  to  general  refinement.  Moreover  this 
sort  of  knowledge  is  fashionable,  and  a  few 
of  us  of  this  third  class  are  as  jealous  of 
our  judgments  on  art  as  the  artists  them 
selves. 

Whether  or  not  we  are  arrogant  in  our 
own  opinions,  we  like  to  turn  to  some  of 
the  real  or  so-called  experts  or  critics  for 
confirmation  as  to  what  is  correct.  We 
often  do  this  surreptitiously,  and  then  some 
times  announce  their  opinions  as  our  own. 
These  critics  are  persons  who  have  studied, 
observed  or  written  about  the  arts,  or  who 
have  done  all  three  of  them,  but  they  are 
rarely  professional  artists  themselves.  We 
naturally  think  that  they  know  more  about 
the  arts  than  the  rest  of  us,  and  they  do. 
They  generally  point  the  way  to  higher 
things ;  they  often  encourage  the  struggling 
ones  capable  of  doing  good  work,  and  they 
properly  humiliate  the  charlatans.  They  be 
come  to  us  a  very  interesting  company  from 
the  fact  that  most  of  us  like  to  lean  upon 
some  other  mind  than  our  own,  especially 

41 


THE  PHYSICAL  BASIS 

in  all  matters  wherein  ignorance  might  be 
embarrassing;  we  have  an  instinctive  timid 
ity  against  standing  alone  and  without 
"authority" ;  we  like  "authority"  as  we  like 
to  quote.  Quotations  are  the  refuge  of  the 
weak  and  timid ;  and  most  of  us  are  timid. 
Since  Emerson's  great  address  on  the 
American  Scholar,  three-quarters  of  a  cen 
tury  ago,  we  here  in  America  have  made 
some  remarkable  progress  toward  our  own 
standards,  especially  in  literature.  He  en 
couraged  a  generation  of  artists  to  stand 
alone,  on  their  own  feet,  and  without  lean 
ing;  but  new  generations  have  come,  and 
we  have  poor  memories  and  conventional 
cowardice. 

As  in  politics  and  religion  so  in  all  arts, 
the  doctors  and  the  guides  differ  somewhat, 
and  we  may  never  hope  to  see  them  all 
agree.  It  is  the  despair  of  candid  students 
of  almost  every  subject  of  human  thought, 
to  discover  that  the  experts  differ  in  their 
notions  of  what  is  correct,  differ  at  times 
sharply,  and  frequently  dispute  hotly  about 
their  differences.  Personal  jealousies  often 
count  as  well  as  unemotional  opinions,  but 
forceful  people  will  differ  and  have  always 
differed,  even  in  spite  of  a  strong  desire  to 
agree  with  each  other.  And  intense  people 
grow  prejudices  as  garden  spots  grow 
weeds,  while  jealousy  and  envy  are  the 

42 


OF  HYPERCRITICISM 

selfish  blots  on  the  struggles  we  make  for 
prestige,  even  when  we  think  we  are  only 
seeking  perfection. 

An  American  lady  in  Paris,  while  in  con 
versation  with  a  musical  composer,  asked 
his  opinion  of  another  composer.  He  curt 
ly  condemned  the  other  to  low  mediocrity, 
and  said  his  compositions  were  amateurish 
and  altogether  crude — not  to  be  considered 
as  true  art  in  any  sense.  In  a  few  days  she 
chanced  to  meet  the  other  composer,  and 
asked  his  opinion  of  the  first.  She  was  sur 
prised  to  have  him  praise  the  other  man 
generously — saying  that  his  works  were  of 
the  highest  artistic  quality.  Then  the  lady 
burst  into  laughter,  and,  in  some  embar 
rassment,  felt  obliged  to  explain  the  cause 
of  her  mirth.  She  told  frankly  the  story  of 
the  other  conversation,  and  how  the  other 
man  had  disparaged  this  one,  whereupon 
the  latter  looked  serious  and  said:  "Did  he 
really  say  that  about  me?  Well,  madame, 
you  know  we  are  both  consummate  liars." 

The  various  standards  in  art  usually 
clash  in  some  things,  yet  in  cardinal  princi 
ples  they  are  somewhat  alike.  There  is  a 
certain  fitness  of  things  ordained  by  na 
ture;  certain  colors  put  together  harmon 
ize  and  are  pleasing  to  the  eyes  of  most 
gentle  people,  other  colors  are  inharmonious 
and  clash.  Certain  sounds  make  harmony 

43 


THE  PHYSICAL  BASIS 

by  a  law  as  fixed  as  the  stars.  So  there  is  to 
some  degree  a  natural  standard  in  things 
beautiful,  which  in  every  art  and  work  is 
promptly  pleasing  to  the  untaught  sense  of 
a  large  number  of  people.  For  example,  in 
music,  the  Largo  from  Handel's  "Xerxes" 
will  never  grow  old  or  cease  to  be  pleasing — 
nor  will  Chopin's  Funeral  March,  nor  the 
Traeumerei  of  Schumann.  So  a  mass  of 
yellow  chrysanthemums  on  a  green,  a  pur 
ple  or  a  black  background,  tends  to  soften 
the  wrinkles  and  broaden  the  face  of  the 
crudest  person  that  looks  upon  them. 
Some  people  seem  never  to  discover  many 
of  these  nature  laws ;  others  are  slow  to  see 
them.  It  is  their  variations  and  the  myriad 
combinations  possible  without  too  much 
violence  to  them,  that  give  scope  for  so 
many  of  our  human  standards  about  which 
we  are  prone  to  differ. 

Once  in  Vienna  I  met  two  superior 
American  girls  who  were  studying  music 
with  the  best  Austrian  teachers,  and  they 
were  hard  workers.  They  had  been  to 
gether  for  many  months  in  Berlin,  under 
the  best  German  teachers,  and  they  had 
become  proficient,  and  both  played  beauti 
fully.  But  they  were  not  satisfied;  they 
wished  for  perfection,  and  so  went  to 
Vienna  to  be  finally  polished  off.  And 
each  one  of  them  had  already  been  con- 

44 


OF  HYPERCRITICISM 

vinced  by  her  new  teacher  that  all  she  had 
learned  of  German  method  was  wrong,  and 
each  one  was  industriously  trying  to  un 
learn  and  undo  all  her  acquired  habits;  to 
destroy,  if  such  a  thing  were  possible,  most 
of  her  cerebral  and  manual  automatisms  in 
playing,  and  to  acquire  new  ones.  The 
great  company  of  unspoiled  music-lovers 
were  unable  to  tell,  from  the  music,  one 
method  from  the  other ;  and  the  artist  ad 
vocates  of  each  school  had  about  equal 
technical  arguments  for  their  faith.  But 
the  two  students  were  permanently  harmed 
in  their  artistic  growth. 

As  the  critics  differ  from  each  other  in 
opinion,  in  personality  and  in  ways  of  say 
ing  things,  we  have  an  opportunity  of  se 
lecting  our  guides  from  among  them. 
Whom  shall  we  listen  to,  and  try  to  fol 
low?  The  critics  with  their  followers  con 
stitute  several  distinct  camps.  To  which 
camp  shall  we  belong?  For  we  may  fol 
low  as  we  like  or  rather  as  we  choose.  The 
vital  question  is,  how  shall  we  make  choice; 
whether  more  from  our  desire  to  be  in 
fashion,  or  from  our  worship  of  some  artist 
or  critic,  or  from  our  common  sense  and 
calm  judgment  as  to  what  is  sane,  whole 
some,  and  innately  fitting.  So  we  need  to 
study  ourselves,  as  well  as  the  critics. 

The  critic  is  often  one-sided,  his  sense  of 

45 


THE  PHYSICAL  BASIS 

proportion  is  bad,  he  hates  certain  colors, 
certain  mannerisms  of  artists,  like  the  voice 
tremor  in  singing  or  the  use  of  certain 
terms  and  expressions  in  language.  In 
other  words,  he  is  hypercritical — which  in 
most  cases  means  unhealthily  and  un- 
wholesomely  critical.  It  might  almost  be  said 
that  the  only  critic  that  is  ever  altogether 
wholesome  is  one  who  refrains  from  hat 
ing.  He  may  admire  certain  artistic  forms, 
even  love  them,  and  he  will  be  helpful.  He 
may  as  faithfully  shun  other  forms  because 
to  him  they  are  crude,  and  he  may  pity 
those  who  are  devoted  to  such  forms,  and 
he  is  still  useful  and  admirable ;  but  the 
moment  he  begins  to  hate  things  in  art  he 
becomes  an  unsafe  guide. 

What  is  the  cause  of  all  this  diversity, 
of  this  hypercriticism,  of  this  hating  of 
some  things,  barely  tolerating  others,  and 
reserving  admiration  for  only  the  few?  For 
this  is  the  attitude  of  many  critical  people 
who  listen  to  music  or  plays,  who  read 
books  or  study  pictures.  Note  the  remarks 
of  a  group  of  such,  on  coming  from  a  con 
cert,  and  see  how  many  of  them  disparage 
the  singer  for  his  perhaps  trifling  errors  or 
his  inferiority  to  some  other  person  who 
has  sung  the  same  songs ;  they  will  dispute 
as  to  whether  he  did  or  did  not  flat  one  of 
his  high  notes;  few  of  them  have  sincerely 

46 


OF  HYPERCRITICISM 

enjoyed  the  music.  They  are  happily  or 
unhappily  miles  removed  from  the  crowd 
of  normal  people  at  the  concert  who,  to 
their  credit,  drank  in  the  music  with  joy 
and  benefit. 

All  the  minor  and  struggling  musical 
artists  are  constantly  in  fear  of  this  un 
friendly  critical  feeling.  If  you  ask  one  of 
them  to  play  for  you,  he  may  not  believe 
even  though  you  protest  it,  that  you  wish 
it  for  the  pleasure  of  hearing  the  music. 
He  will  feel,  whether  he  says  so  or  not, 
that  you  are  merely  anxious  to  know  how 
well  he  plays,  and  that  you  will  listen  with 
an  ear  of  unfriendly  or  envious  criticism, 
ready  in  your  heart  to  gloat  over  his  imper 
fections  while  you  may  speak  your  hollow 
compliments.  So  he  will  offer  all  sorts  of 
excuses  to  avoid  playing — as  that  he  is  not 
in  practice,  has  not  touched  the  piano  for 
so  long;  or  he  has  forgotten  his  music,  or 
he  is  not  feeling  in  exactly  the  mood  for 
playing. 

The  fact  is  that  people  who  are  natural 
objectors,  who  are  normally  hypercritical 
and  protestants,  often  become  our  critics. 
It  is  the  natural  tendency  of  an  objector 
to  become  a  critic.  He  easily  makes  talk, 
and  spicy  reading  if  he  writes;  newspapers 
and  publishers  like  him  because  he  puts  so- 
called  ginger  into  his  work. 

47 


THE  PHYSICAL  BASIS 

He  makes,  too,  an  interesting  teacher, 
and  so  schools  and  colleges  may  engage 
him;  it  is  easier  and  often  more  acceptable 
to  attack  and  disparage  than  to  construct, 
unless  you  promise  some  good  thing  for 
nothing.  He  likes  to  instruct  and  domi 
nate,  and  always  has  something  to  say, 
even  if  it  is  gloomy  and  pessimistic. 

One  cause  of  morbid  hypercriticism, 
which  has  received  little  or  no  attention,  is 
mental  or  emotional  fatigue.  I  mean  the 
fatigue  of  a  certain  sort  of  mental  atten 
tion,  especially  what  may  be  called  emotion 
al  attention — the  fatigue  that  comes  of  an 
effort  to  find  enjoyment.  The  artist  dwells  so 
long  upon  one  subject  or  one  phase  of  it 
that  he  grows  tired  in  the  effort,  and  longs 
for  something  new,  something  different. 
This  he  always  finds  and  for  a  time  enjoys 
because,  for  one  reason,  he  is  thereby 
rested;  it  gives  him  a  relief  from  his  old 
drudgery,  and  he  is  glad.  The  new  thing 
he  takes  up  with  is  frequently  a  wide  de 
parture  from  his  previous  ideals,  and  may 
be  acceptable  to  but  few  artists  or  other 
people.  Yet  he  may  stick  to  his  new  love 
and  dislike  the  old  one  through  the  rest  of 
his  life.  He  may  even  say  sharp  things  of 
others  who  refuse  to  follow  him.  I  sus 
pect  that  this  was  the  intellectual  history 
of  the  late  Mr.  Whistler.  Many  refined 

48 


OF  HYPERCRITICISM 

people  say  he  was  great,  and  doubtless  he 
was;  but  the  vast  mass  of  casual  art-seek 
ing  people  would  pass  his  pictures  by  with 
scant  notice — if  they  did  not  know  the 
name  of  the  painter. 

The  critical  side  of  the  mind  is  one  of 
its  emotional  sides.  It  is  the  overwork  of 
the  emotional,  the  critical,  the  caretaking 
faculty  of  the  mind,  which  more  than  any 
other  influence  (possibly  more  than  all 
others)  induces  that  form  of  cerebral  de 
preciation  which  is  absurdly  named  ner 
vous  prostration.  It  is  a  very  common  dis 
order  in  America  and  mostly  befalls  the 
critical,  precise,  particular,  emotional  peo 
ple,  who  are  short  of  mental  and  nervous 
stamina,  or  who  hate,  fear,  envy  and  yearn 
too  much,  or  who  lack  an  enduring  and 
saving  sense  of  humor. 

If  the  morbid  critic  rarely  has  true  ner 
vous  prostration,  it  is  because  either  his 
nervous  stamina  is  proof  against  it  or, 
while  he  is  lacking  in  fear,  his  enjoyment 
in  the  castigation  of  others  is  a  sufficient 
preventive. 

The  ideals  of  the  artist  and  the  critic  at 
different  times  in  their  lives  may  be  widely 
different,  because  they  grow  and  develop — 
and  to  develop  is  the  fortune  of  every  art 
ist,  student,  critic  or  plain  man  who  even 
contemplates  for  long  the  results  of  human 

49 


THE  PHYSICAL  BASIS 

effort  of  any  sort ;  it  is  the  reward  for  every 
one  who  is  not  spiritually  made  of  wood. 
But  we  are  sometimes  perplexed  about  the 
changing  standards  of  the  same  people,  as 
well  as  their  differing  ones.  Each  one  is 
sure  to  think  he  has  developed  forward, 
and  may  even  come  to  believe  that  his  old 
standards  are  to  be  despised,  and  that  only 
the  new  ones  are  worthy.  Sometimes  the 
new  ones  are  dilettante,  exquisite,  and 
over-refined.  Yet  the  rule  is  that  those 
who  are  not  avowed  artists,  or  engaged  in 
the  drudgery  of  criticism,  progress  whole 
somely  from  good  to  better,  if  not  to  the 
best.  This  is  true  of  many  of  the  artists 
and  the  working  critics  themselves,  some 
of  whom  have  been  known  to  confess 
frankly  that  they  have  a  constant  struggle 
to  avoid  the  warping  tendency  to  adverse 
criticism.  For  it  is  a  fact  of  human  nature 
that  those  who  are  set,  or  who  set  them 
selves,  to  the  task  of  monitor  for  the  ar 
tistic  work  of  others,  tend  toward  a  habit 
of  protest  and  objection.  It  requires  a 
knowledge  of  this  fact  and  watchful  atten 
tion  in  order  to  avoid  it.  The  human  im 
pulse  to  blame  is  greater  than  that  to 
praise;  to  the  shame  of  our  selfishness  and 
jealousy  it  seems  easier  to  discourage  and 
pull  down  than  to  encourage  and  build  up. 
The  professional  critic  is  the  most  unfor- 

50 


OF  HYPERCRITICISM 

tunate  of  all,  the  man  whose  business  it  is 
to  review  books,  to  criticize  art,  music  and 
acting;  and  who  cares  to  be  thorough  and 
fair.  He  is  capable  of  being  among  the 
most  useful,  as  he  may  become  in  a  way 
among  the  most  dangerous  of  men.  He  is 
under  constant  temptation  and  hard  condi 
tions,  and  his  remedy  is  plain.  He  needs 
to  know  his  danger  of  critical  brain  tire  and 
of  mental  tangents,  as  he  needs  to  desire 
that  his  critical  work  shall  be  sane,  judicial 
and  wholesome.  He  ought  to  mix  some 
other  occupation  with  that  of  criticism,  to 
be  one  of  the  people,  to  mingle  often  with 
those  of  simpler  tastes  and  not  ignore  or 
hate  their  ideals  honestly  held ;  to  study 
them  as  well  as  his  art,  and  not  constantly 
flock  with  others  of  his  own  ilk,  where  he  is 
likely  to  compare  his  peculiar  irritations 
with  theirs,  like  a  lot  of  infirmary  patients 
growing  more  morbid  by  comparing  with 
each  other  their  respective  symptoms.  His 
critical  function  like  any  other  much-worked 
function  requires  a  certain  amount  of  rest, 
and  he  must  struggle  against  the  constant 
tendency  to  fall  into  the  groove  of  protest, 
to  complain  and  depreciate  regularly,  and 
to  find  things  to  commend  only  rarely.  If 
he  is  healthy,  vigorous  and  honest,  and 
spends  a  part  of  his  day  in  wholesome  other 
occupations,  especially  if  he  can  be  much 

51 


THE  PHYSICAL  BASIS 

out  of  doors,  he  may  retain  his  sanity  of 
view  and  improve  his  judgment;  but  he  is 
both  liable  and  likely  to  allow  his  fatigue, 
his  indigestion,  his  irritations  and  his  hates 
(or  possibly  his  jealousies)  to  influence  him 
powerfully.  And  he  is  always  in  danger  of 
losing  his  sense  of  real  values,  and  of  be 
coming  what  he  would  never  willingly  be, 
an  unsafe  and  unbalanced  critic. 

In  selecting  our  guides,  we  should  seek 
for  the  sane,  wholesome,  tranquil  people; 
not  the  nervous,  irritable  and  irascible  ones. 
Finally,  they  should  never  really  be  allowed 
to  direct  us,  they  should  only  assist  us  to 
reach  the  best  standard  that  we  are  capa 
ble  of — remembering  always  that  our  capa 
bilities  differ  like  the  trees.  Our  duty  is  to 
take  the  hints  and  informing  statements  of 
the  critics,  as  we  take  the  useful  teachings 
of  other  people,  and  to  form  our  own  opin 
ions — and  refuse  to  like  or  say  we  admire 
the  things  that  we  do  not.  The  critic  is 
bound  to  shoot  over  the  heads  of  some  of 
us,  to  hit  the  feet  of  others,  to  irritate  some, 
and  to  please  and  help  others.  This  is  be 
cause  he  measures  out  to  all  people  alike, 
regardless  of  their  capacity  or  experience, 
his  personal  standard  of  wrongly  labeled 
absolute  art.  There  is  no  such  standard 
save  as  to  a  very  few  general  truths,  and 
the  sensible  thing  for  us  down  in  the  pit 

52 


OF  HYPERCRITICISM 

to  do,  is  to  make  our  own  final  verdicts. 
Within  limits  there  are  as  many  standards 
of  art  as  there  are  thoughtful,  humble  lov 
ers  of  beauty. 

For  ourselves  the  remedy  is  to  keep  on 
studying  the  arts  that  are  our  vocations,  our 
fads,  or  our  merely  interesting  contempla 
tion.  The  more  we  study,  the  more  we  see 
and  hear  and  compare,  the  more  will  our 
own  tastes  mature  and  clarify.  Our  danger 
is  that  we  will  blindly  follow  some  perhaps 
self-constituted  critic  who  has  as  crude  a 
taste  as  our  own.  Hence  it  is  important 
that  we  judge  our  critics  and  cultivate  a 
mental  independence  of  our  own.  We  must 
stand  on  our  own  judgment  and  not  be  led 
blindly.  But  we  ought  in  all  fairness  to  our 
selves  as  well  as  to  the  critics,  to  regard  the 
views  of  a  serious  student  of  any  subject 
as  evidence,  if  not  proof,  that  there  is  some 
reason  back  of  them,  and  we  should  find 
that  reason  if  we  can.  We  may  even  try  to 
admire  the  things  others  like  and  we  dis 
like.  Otherwise  we  should  testify  to  our 
own  individual  conceits  and  confess  our 
selves  to  be  unteachable  and  incapable  of 
growth — it  is  possible  that  we  are  wrong, 
and  if  so  it  is  important  that  we  of  all  peo 
ple  should  know  it. 

Above  all  things  we  ought  to  be  honest 
with  ourselves ;  it  never  pays  to  fool  our- 

53 


THE  PHYSICAL  BASIS 

selves.  If  we  are  specially  courageous  we 
will  now  and  then  be  frank  to  confess  such 
ignorance  of  art  as  we  have,  and  not  be 
ashamed  of  it — then  we  will  find  to  our  sur 
prise  that  many  others  are  as  blind  as  our 
selves,  others  will  follow  our  confessions  by 
their  own.  There  will  be  revealed  to  us  a 
large  community  of  ignorance,  and  out  of 
it  will  come  a  knowledge  that  we  do  know 
certain  things  if  we  are  ignorant  of  others — 
and  we  may  come  to  have  a  trifle  of  pride  in 
both.  Anyway  it  will  furnish  us  a  basis  to 
build  upon.  To  know  and  confess  our  ig 
norance  is  the  beginning  of  wisdom. 

But  alas,  to  our  discredit,  many  of  us  will 
say  "how  beautiful,"  just  because  somebody 
else  has  said  it,  when  we  are  mentally  strug 
gling  to  find  some  beauty  in  the  thing,  and 
mostly  failing  to  discover  it.  There  are 
some  good  people  in  the  hither  part  of  Cali 
fornia  who  say  they  see  beauty  in  the  down- 
hanging,  dusty  leaves  of  our  very  tall  palm 
trees.  If  they  are  right  they  should  logi 
cally  contend  for  bedraggled  skirts,  unkempt 
hair  and  dirty  faces.  The  only  real  beauty 
of  such  palm-leaves  is  that  of  a  dead  tree 
or  a  cadaver.  But  we  have  heard  admirable 
people  say  that  these  somber  things  are 
artistic,  and  so  we  say  it. 

The  recent  little  craze  in  this  country  for 
Japanese  prints  illustrates  the  point.  A  few 

54 


OF  HYPERCRITICISM 

of  these  pictures  are  naturally  beautiful,  or 
if  you  please,  beautiful  to  the  average 
American  mind — but  most  of  them  are  only 
such  for  the  reason  that  the  mind  of  the  ob 
server  is  tired  of  other  forms  of  art  and  is 
glad  of  something  new ;  or  that  he  has  ac 
quired  the  peculiar  taste  of  the  Japanese 
themselves,  has  actually  reached  their  view 
point  (which  I  believe  is  almost  an  impos 
sibility)  ;  or  finally  that  he  has  risen  to  some 
heights  of  refinement  that  are  foreign  to  his 
neighbors.  Really,  most  of  us  admire  them 
because  we  believe  the  statements  of  some 
exquisite  people  who  say  they  admire  them 
and  that  they  are  beautiful. 

Hypercriticism,  erratic,  intense  criticism, 
then,  is  largely  due  to  two  distinct  influ 
ences  or  traits.  The  one  is  inborn  to  the 
critic  whether  he  be  an  artist  or  not,  and 
consists  in  a  mental  bent  toward  egoistic 
intensity,  exaltation  of  his  own  notions, 
and  a  militant  disposition  to  defend  them. 
This  leads  to  extreme  views,  to  intolerance 
of  opposition  and  to  many  antagonisms. 
This  cast  of  mind  is  unjudicial,  it  is  lia 
ble  to  z/7zrational  notions  and  wworderly 
opinions. 

The  other  influence  is  fatigue  of  the  criti 
cal  sense,  weariness  with  the  old  pictures 
and  methods ;  brain-tire  from  the  old  plays 
and  games,  and  a  yearning  for  new  visions, 

55 


THE  PHYSICAL  BASIS 

for  something  novel  and  fresh,  and  unlike 
the  old.  And  a  curious  fact  about  this  men 
tal  condition  is  that  the  victim  of  it,  like 
victims  of  other  forms  of  mental  disorder, 
is  unaware  of  its  existence,  and  would 
stoutly  deny  it  if  anybody  should  have  the 
hardihood  to  suggest  it  to  him. 


56 


Conservation  for  the  Individual 


Conservation  for  the  Individual* 


Never  before  in  the  history  of  America 
was  so  much  thought  given  to  conservation 
as  now.  It  is  a  tardy  arrival,  forced  upon 
us  by  economic  pressure,  growing  competi 
tion  and  our  own  waste. 

The  discussion  has  been  largely  of  mass 
economics  and  the  scientific  management  of 
large  interests.  It  has  had  for  its  purpose 
the  noble  one  of  saving  money  and  conserv 
ing  the  interests  of  the  workers. 

Many  thorough  studies  have  been  made 
and  plentiful  reports  of  how  to  conserve  the 
forests,  water  powers  and  mines  of  the  na 
tion  ;  how  to  reclaim  the  deserts ;  how 
greater  economies  can  enter  into  the  busi 
ness  of  agriculture  and  the  operating  of  rail 
roads,  mines,  all  sorts  of  manufacturing,  and 
the  government  itself;  how  to  provide 
greater  safety  and  more  wholesome  condi 
tions  for  operatives. 

Nobody  could  be  in  greater  need  than  we 

*A  Club  Paper— 1911. 

59 


CONSERVATION  FOR 

of  such  efforts,  for  we  are  probably  the  most 
wasteful  people  on  earth,  both  in  substance 
and  effort,  if  not  the  most  careless.  We 
waste  enough  constantly  to  support,  by 
proper  economy  and  carefulness,  nearly  or 
quite  another  equal  number  of  people. 

We  are  being  taught  how  to  save  and 
avoid  reckless  waste,  and  are  already  sav 
ing  some  millions  annually  by  better  man 
agement  and  conservation.  This  adds  by 
so  much  to  the  common  wealth,  and  ulti 
mately  reaches  to  some  degree,  and  prob 
ably  unequally,  all  the  people ;  although  the 
majority  of  them  may  not  believe  it.  The 
citrus  farmers  of  California  know  of  their 
larger  profits  in  late  years,  and  railroad 
stockholders  confess  to  either  better  divi 
dends  or  reduced  freight  rates,  while  many 
manufacturers  have  seen  their  profits  grow 
with  better  conditions  for  their  operatives. 
Our  present  saving  is  a  trifle  compared  to 
what  we  shall  save  by  comprehensive  con 
servation. 

Important  as  this  sort  of  reform  is,  and 
great  as  are  its  promises  for  the  future,  the 
amount  saved  is  a  thing  of  small  moment 
compared  with  the  value  of  the  movement 
on  the  economic  thought-habits  of  the  peo 
ple.  Through  and  out  of  it  is  sure  to  come 
a  better  attitude  toward  personal  economics, 
and  the  avoidance  of  waste  by  the  individual 

60 


THE  INDIVIDUAL 

himself.  Surpassing  the  value  of  conserva 
tion  for  the  common  benefit — and  contribu 
ting  to  it — is  the  conservation  of  the  average 
man ;  and  the  average  man  is  a  toiler  in 
some  sort,  and  earns  a  daily  average  of  less 
than  two  dollars,  while  he  wastes  his  pow 
ers  and  opportunities  in  a  hundred  ways. 
This  man  is  the  most  important  thing  in 
the  community;  he  is  the  bulwark  of  the 
state  and  society;  collectively  he  furnishes 
the  sterling  men  and  women  who  come  up 
to  take  the  places,  in  the  larger  affairs  of 
life,  of  the  vanishing  families  that  are  weak 
ened  by  alleged  over-prosperity,  by  too  much 
and  foolishly  spent  money,  by  vanity  and 
other  forms  of  dissipation.  It  is  impossible 
to  overvalue  the  personal  conservation  of 
this  man.  And  it  is  not  merely  the  labor 
ing  man  who  needs  arousing;  for  nearly 
every  clerk,  merchant,  manufacturer  and 
professional  man  needs  it  quite  as  much. 

Every  man  who  works  at  anything  ought 
to  become  an  introspective  student  of  his 
owrn  powers,  duties,  achievements  and  pleas 
ures.  He  should  make  it  a  cardinal  part  of 
his  program  of  life  to  cut  out  the  things  that 
are  unpurposeful,  and  make  every  moment 
and  act  count  for  the  conservation  of  this 
quaternity  of  purposes;  not  for  powers 
alone,  nor  for  duties,  achievements  or  pleas 
ures,  but  for  that  due  combination  of  them 

61 


CONSERVATION  FOR 

that  alone  can  most  nearly  represent  a  per 
fect  man.  It  is  a  matter  of  self-discipline  and 
development;  the  man  can  have  little  help 
from  others;  he  must  walk  alone  under  his 
own  conscience  and  fixed  purposes,  and  be 
glad  but  not  vain  of  every  step  of  progress. 

Is  it  possible  for  us  to  re-educate  ourselves, 
to  change  our  ways  and  conserve  our  forces 
the  better  to  bring  comfort  and  success?  I 
believe  it  is  just  possible  for  adult  people — 
but  extremely  difficult.  It  is  much  easier 
for  a  child  to  be  started  right  and  then  with 
some  good  intention  to  stay  right  and  grow 
better.  Our  habits  are  fixed  firmly,  and  we 
are  uncontented ;  we  keep  trying  to  do  bet 
ter,  and  with  poor  success,  because  of  our 
illogical  methods  and  bad  reasoning.  We 
are  caught  easily  by  some  new  remedy,  some 
airy  promise  of  more  ease  and  longer  life ; 
we  try  it  and  fail  usually.  We  look  for  some 
short  cut  to  happiness,  some  new  process 
that  shall  play  the  part  of  a  fairy.  But  there 
are  no  short  cuts  and  few  mysteries,  beyond 
the  mystery  of  life. 

How  shall  a  man  begin  and  progress  in 
his  own  conservation?  It  is  impossible  to 
get  the  best  results  in  a  haphazard  way ;  or 
by  considering  one  side  only  of  his  activi 
ties  ;  and  of  course,  no  progress  is  possible 
to  a  man  who  thinks  his  program  is  perfect 
and  perfectly  performed.  A  new  life  comes 

62 


THE  INDIVIDUAL 

only  to  those  who  know  they  are  in  need  and 
are  willing  to  work  steadily  for  betterment. 
Most  of  us  are  sinners  in  waste  and  the  scat 
tering  of  effort,  and  need  reformation. 

More  scientific  management  will  sooner 
or  later  enter  most  lines  of  industry.  It  is 
in  the  air,  and  it  ought  to  succeed  for  it 
saves  power  and  money ;  it  cuts  the  corners 
and  shows  how  a  man  may  most  easily  and 
profitably  use  his  strength.  It  is  a  pathetic 
fact  that  many  of  the  men  and  women  them 
selves  who  do  the  work  rebel  against  the 
changes  that  conserve  and  even  save  their 
lives,  and  must  be  forced  by  indirection  and 
finesse  to  adopt  them. 

Some  men  will  wish  to  improve  their  work 
and  methods.  For  such  there  is  hope,  since 
they  have  only  their  fixed  habits  and  old 
ways  to  overcome.  Some  have  no  deep  de 
sire  to  improve,  although  a  few  of  these  may 
think  they  have.  For  them  there  is  small 
prospect,  because  the  ambition  to  change  is 
a  vital  need. 


I. 


The  most  natural  first  thought  of  personal 
conservation  is  of  the  man's  own  body  (and 
man  is  here  used  collectively  for  the  race). 
His  body  is  his  engine  of  power  as  well  as 
his  source  of  enjoyment ;  poor  health  and  re- 

63 


CONSERVATION  FOR 

duced  power  handicap  unavoidably  any 
man,  albeit  a  weakness  in  one  faculty  may 
attend  a  compensating  increase  in  another, 
and  sometimes  the  physically  weak  outlast 
the  physically  strong. 

What  is  the  basis  of  bodily  conservation? 

The  first  consideration  is  to  avoid  sickness 
and  keep  well.  The  micro-organisms  of  dis 
ease  which  kill  most  people  of  all  ages  attack 
first  and  most  destructively  those  who  are 
below  their  physiologic  par.  A  normal  de 
gree  of  bodily  resisting  power  is  usually  able 
to  destroy  the  microbes  or  fight  them  off  for 
years  and  years.  Experiments  in  agriculture 
have  shown,  what  we  might  have  known  all 
along,  that  vigorous  plants  resist  parasites 
better  than  weak  ones.  In  some  sections  of 
this  country  a  few  years  ago  the  people 
seemed  to  be  facing  destruction  of  their  chief 
crop  by  a  ruthless  parasite;  but  deep  plow 
ing  and  abundant  cultivation  so  increased 
the  vigor  of  the  plants  as  to  fight  off  the 
parasites  and  restore  the  prosperity  of  the 
country. 

The  thing  to  do  for  the  human  individual 
is  to  try  to  conserve  his  health,  keep  it  up 
to  the  normal  standard,  and  when  he  falls 
sick  have  him  rest,  receive  the  best  hygienic 
conditions — fresh  air,  food,  abundant  sleep, 
and  a  serene  state  of  mind.  We  are  sinners 
all  in  frittering  away  our  energy,  and  worry- 

64 


THE  INDIVIDUAL 

ing  our  nerves  over  avoidable  trifles  and 
unavoidable  things  that  for  the  moment 
seem  great,  but  are  essentially  trifles.  Prob 
ably  half  of  all  our  worries  are  wholly  unnec 
essary,  and  not  a  few  of  them  are  grounded 
in  our  own  conceits  and  unprofitable  selfish 
ness.  Tranquillity,  rest,  sweet  temper  and 
good  hygiene  are  equal  to  the  recovery  from 
probably  over  ninety-five  per  cent  of  all  the 
cases  of  sickness.  It  is  for  a  small  propor 
tion  of  all  the  cases,  trifling  as  well  as  grave, 
that  the  early  attention  of  the  physician 
actually  saves  life,  while  for  a  much  larger 
number  he  may  assuage  suffering,  give  a 
sense  of  security,  and  so  hasten  the  recovery. 

In  more  detail  the  basis  includes  the  fol 
lowing  : 

(a)  To  live  on  foods,  not  stimulants ;  and 
such  foods  as  the  average  of  intelligent  peo 
ple  have  found  acceptable  and  wholesome. 
That  means  a  mixed  diet ;  some  sort  of  com 
posite  of  the  best  rations  of  modern  armies, 
the  best  hospitals  and  sanitariums  not  gov 
erned  by  fads,  and  of  the  tables  of  the  ath 
letic  teams  of  the  colleges.  But  many  people 
eat  too  much,  and  most  eat  too  rapidly.  A 
fair  guide  as  to  quantity  is  to  eat  as  little  as 
convenient  without  reducing  the  body 
weight.  Eating  slowly  and  chewing  well 
make  a  smaller  meal  more  power-giving  and 
more  satisfying. 

65 


CONSERVATION  FOR 

In  the  main,  the  human  body,  including 
the  brain,  does  most  work,  stands  most  sick 
ness  and  lives  longest  without  stimulants 
of  any  kind.  Some  laboratory  workers  have 
proven  this  especially  as  to  brain  work.  Sta 
tistics  show  that  habitual  tobacco  users 
seized  with  pulmonary  tuberculosis  are  less 
than  one-half  as  likely  to  recover  as  are 
non-users. 

(b)  Habitations  are  important.   The  sim 
plest  and  cheap  ones  are  usually  the  best. 
Those  with  many  cracks  and  crannies  for 
ventilation  are  best  of  all.     Every  dweller 
should  have  the  amount  of  constant  out 
door  air  necessary  to  approach  the  out-door 
life ;  and  sleeping  out  of  doors  is  commend 
able.      Everyone    should    always    be    in    a 
zephyr  of  moving  air,  sometimes  called  a 
draught — it  gives  him  his  due  of  fresh  air 
with  every  breath.    The  remedy  for  air  too 
cold  is  more  fuel  or  more  clothes  or  both — 
and  this  is  economical  in  doctors'  bills  and 
more  strength  and  life. 

(c)  The  rule  as  to  clothes  is  comfort — 
the    least   clothes    consistent   with   comfort 
will  do ;  but  the  clothes  should  neither  bind 
the  body  anywhere,    nor    be    buttoned    or 
hooked  up  in  the  back.    To  be  guilty  of  the 
latter  absurdity  is   a  grievous   sin   against 
personal  conservation. 

Don't  worry  over  the   small  amount  of 

66 


THE  INDIVIDUAL 

clothes  the  children  wish  to  wear — they  will 
not  sicken  from  it,  or  even  take  cold;  colds 
are  due  to  hygienic  sins  within,  never  from 
without.  Remember  that  two  layers  of 
underwear  are  three  times  as  warming  as 
one. 

(d)  Recreation    should    be    a    daily,    not 
weekly,  duty  for  all  workers,  and  it  should 
supplement  the  work  and  help  the  body  and 
mind  to  keep  balanced  and   strong.     It  is 
absurd  for  a  mathematician  to  play  chess  in 
the  evening  for  recreation ;  a  man  who  sits 
at  his  work  all  day  should  not  sit  at  a  card 
game  all  the  evening,  but  take  a  long  walk 
or  ride  instead ;  a  mail  carrier  need  not  take 
the  long  walk,  he  might  take  his  recreation 
sitting.     An  indoor  worker  ought  to  have 
his  recreation  out  of  doors. 

(e)  A  daily  three-minute  bath  is  a  good 
thing — a  very  hot  one  is  the  best — but  the 
bath   is   incomparably   less  important   than 
the  fresh  air  and  well  chosen  recreation. 

(f)  The  man  who  neglects  his  own  or  his 
children's  teeth,  and  wittingly  allows  them 
to  become  ruined,  is  guilty  of  an  unforgiv 
able   sin,   for  it   increases   the   burden   and 
shortens  the  life.     Effective   chewing  is   a 
necessary  function  of  life. 

(g)  To  avoid  sickness,  and  to  escape  the 
consequences   of   it   when   it   comes,   is   the 
essence  of  conservation.     The  pathologists 

67 


CONSERVATION  FOR 

have  yet  many  things  to  learn,  but  they 
have  touched  bottom  a  few  times,  and  one 
of  their  undeniables  is  that  from  birth  to 
death  we  are  in  a  constant  struggle  against 
the  micro-organisms  of  disease,  and  that  we 
usually  in  the  end  are  destroyed  by  them. 
Even  those  whose  gospel  it  is  never  to  kill 
anything,  are  in  this  fight  as  truly  as  are  the 
rest  of  us,  and  kill  as  valiantly  as  they 
can.  Knowledge  of  how  to  avoid  danger 
is  within  the  reach  of  any  man ;  and 
what  best  to  do  when  sickness  conies  is 
learned  from  people  who  have  rationally 
studied  most  about  it,  and  no  poor  man  need 
impoverish  himself  to  have  assistance.  He 
does  not  need  to  consult  an  aged  woman  or 
the  policeman  on  the  corner  to  learn  how  to 
diagnose  or  treat  diphtheria,  and  the  fact 
that  God  is  good  has  no  influence  on  the 
germs  of  tuberculosis. 

The  Mexican  peons  are  afraid  of  the  night 
air  lest  they  take  pneumonia ;  when  they  are 
outdoors  in  the  night  or  the  cold  they  breathe 
through  a  fold  of  their  blanket  held  over  the 
mouth,  and  when  they  are  indoors  they  hud 
dle  together  and  so  encourage  the  distribu 
tion  of  their  microbes  from  one  to  another. 
Many  intelligent  and  some  educated  Ameri 
cans  do  things  quite  as  foolish. 

(h)  Cheerfulness  and  optimism,  and  a 
sense  of  humor  in  sickness,  are  valuable  un- 

68 


THE  INDIVIDUAL 

speakably.  They  help  digestion  and  recov 
ery,  beside  being  an  asset  in  themselves; 
they  help  us  to  ignore  a  lot  of  trifling  ail 
ments  that  often  terrify  the  timid  to  the 
point  of  panic.  Careers  are  ruined,  battles 
are  lost  and  good  people  get  sleepless  and 
gray  from  trifling  annoyances,  often  wholly 
imaginary.  I  have  known  a  man  to  fret  him 
self  into  a  frenzy  because  he  was  ordered  to 
swallow,  for  a  month,  a  sugar-coated  pill 
once  a  day,  when  the  pill  contained  only 
bread  or  some  other  inert  substance.  And 
thousands  of  people  worry  themselves  into 
invalidism  or  into  a  drug  habit  because  they 
do  not  sleep  well ;  their  fretting  keeps  them 
awake.  The  truth  is  that  they  sleep  enough ; 
no  great  amount  of  sleep  is  necessary,  but 
eight  hours  horizontal  rest  of  body  each  day 
is  needed.  In  our  society  today  there  is 
hardly  a  greater  waste  of  energy  and  pros 
pects  than  in  useless  grief  over  an  insomnia 
whose  horror  is  almost  entirely  mental.  It 
has  blighted  the  lives  of  countless  good  peo 
ple.  Not  more  than  one  insomniac  in  a  thou 
sand  will  fail  of  all  the  sleep  he  really  needs, 
if  he  will  go  to  bed  under  the  best  condi 
tions.  These  are  darkness,  horizontal  pos 
ture,  a  soft  bed  with  a  pillow  that  fits,  out 
door  air,  warm  feet,  a  cool  head,  freedom 
from  all  stimulants,  i.  e.,  alcohol,  tea,  coffee 
and  tobacco;  a  light  supper  and  an  empty 

69 


CONSERVATION  FOR 

lower  bowel — and  most  vital  of  all,  a  con 
tentment  that  neither  roosters,  cars,  thun 
der,  nor  the  snoring  or  coughing  of  neigh 
bors  can  disturb. 

II. 

Conservation  of  the  man  in  his  work  by 
himself  is  possible  to  a  great  extent.  Take 
a  thousand  men  doing  all  sorts  of  work ;  at 
least  a  third,  possibly  half  of  them,  if  they 
would  study  their  jobs,  would  find  they 
could  improve  their  methods  so  as  to  do  the 
same  amount  of  work  easier  and  better. 
Most  men  work  like  a  mechanic  who  has 
learned  his  trade  and  is  content  to  use  the 
same  methods  and  tools  that  his  predeces 
sors  have  always  used.  But  the  workman 
of  today  has  as  good  a  right  to  improve  his 
tools  and  his  methods  as  his  great  grand 
father  had;  even  a  hod-carrier  might  find  a 
better  way  to  adjust  his  load.  For  over  a 
century  men  have  tried  unsuccessfully  to 
induce  typesetters  to  consent  to  an  economi 
cal  rearrangement  of  the  cases  for  their 
types,  and  they  refuse  to  reform.  We  are 
dull  in  observation  of  what  goes  on  around 
us,  even  about  our  fellow  workers,  as  we 
are  foolish  in  failing  to  learn  about  the  kinds 
of  work  that  are  related  to  our  own.  It  is 
the  bank  clerk  who  strives  to  know  about 

70 


THE  INDIVIDUAL 

every  job  in  the  bank  that  is  promoted.  A 
friend  of  mine  said  to  one  of  his  boss  farm 
ers  :  "I  see  that  our  neighbor's  new  alfalfa 
field  looks  more  thrifty  than  ours.  Do  you 
know  why?"  "No,  I  don't,"  was  the  reply. 
"Is  his  soil  apparently  different  from  ours?" 
"I  don't  know."  "Did  he  prepare  his  soil 
in  any  way  different  from  our  method?"  "I 
don't  know,"  was  the  reply.  And  my  friend 
swallowed  his  disgust,  but  looked  for  an 
other  boss  farmer.  In  our  work  we  make 
many  false  motions  and  useless  ones,  and 
do  a  lot  of  petty  things  that  consume  time 
and  power.  We  often  do  things  in  wrong 
sequence  and  so  make  work  and  the  greatest 
possible  number  of  steps,  instead  of  the  few 
est.  We  are  apt  to  make  the  steps  hard  in 
stead  of  easy ;  a  man  who  in  walking  brings 
down  his  feet  hard  with  his  knee  joints  in 
extreme  extension,  i.  e.,  quite  straight,  tires 
quicker  than  he  who  strikes  the  ground 
softly  and  with  knees  a  trifle  flexed.  We 
waste  power  by  starting  to  work  late  so 
that  we  must  hurry ;  slow  trains  make  their 
runs  with  less  fuel  and  wear  of  the  machin 
ery  than  fast  trains. 

We  save  strength  by  liking  our  work,  by 
continuity  of  purpose  in  it  and  by  trying  to 
better  it,  not  by  hating  it.  WThy  does  a  boy 
find  work  so  hard  and  play — even  laborious 
play — so  easy?  He  likes  the  one  and  hates 

71 


CONSERVATION  FOR 

the  other.  With  interest  in  a  task  the  hours 
fly,  quitting-time  comes  soon.  Then  we 
often  lose  by  wasteful  fretting  about  the 
conditions  under  which  we  work.  We  dis 
like  a  fellow  workman  or  our  employer ;  we 
are  irritated  by  the  way  he  speaks  to  us ;  we 
are  jealous  of  one  whose  pay  is  a  trifle  more 
than  ours,  and  so  we  lose  half  the  pleasure 
of  life  that  we  are  entitled  to.  It  profits  us 
to  ignore  trifles  and  pay  attention  to  the  es 
sentials.  We  wastefully  fritter  away  half  our 
strength  over  avoidable  trifles  that  could  be 
ignored  if  we  would  only  try.  A  wholesome 
sense  of  humor  gives  us  amusement  over 
many  of  our  petty  annoyances,  and  so  saves 
our  digestion  and  conserves  our  strength 
and  our  sleep. 

Probably  a  third  of  the  people  have  fallen 
or  been  thrust  by  accident  into  kinds  of 
work  less  fitted  to  their  capacities  than  some 
other  kinds.  If  the  misfits  could  take  for 
their  fads  those  kinds  of  effort  that  might 
lead  them  into  more  congenial  and  adapted 
occupations,  it  would  mean  the  highest 
order  of  conservation.  Modern  scientific 
management  and  study  help  us  to  find  the 
jobs  we  are  best  fitted  for. 

It  is  only  in  very  recent  years  that 
thoughtful  men  have  set  about  the  scientific 
study  of  adjusting  large  numbers  of  men 
and  women  to  their  tasks,  and  finding  the 

72 


THE  INDIVIDUAL 

right  or  the  better  tasks  for  some  of  them. 
These  students  have  invaded  our  factories 
and  shops,  and  studied  the  character  of  the 
work  done  by  various  operatives  and  the 
personal  qualities  of  these  people,  and  have 
found  that  by  some  rearrangement  great 
gains  can  be  made  in  the  work  and  in  the 
comfort  of  the  workers.  They  have  insti 
tuted  a  high  order  of  personal  conservation 
for  many  of  these  operatives.  They  have 
found  a  girl  working  at  a  job  unfitted  for 
her  and  they  have  given  her  a  different  one. 
She  is  nervous  and  is  irritated  by  people, 
whom  she  must  meet  in  numbers,  and 
she  irritates  them;  she  is  given  a  task  in 
a  quiet  spot  where  she  will  meet  few,  and 
another  girl — tranquil,  self-poised  and  genial 
— is  given  the  task  of  meeting  people,  and 
so  a  blessing  is  brought  to  both.  A  man  is 
found  working  at  a  task  requiring  some  ac 
curate  records  in  figures  and  he  hates  mathe 
matics  and  makes  numerous  blunders,  while 
another  man  in  the  same  shop  is  keen  at  fig 
ures  and  is  found  doing  a  task  that  requires 
nothing  of  the  sort.  These  two  men  ex 
change  jobs  to  the  personal  conservation 
of  both — and  so  on  in  a  hundred  other  ways 
and  instances.  More  reforms  of  this  kind 
ought  to  be  made,  and  especially  the  oper 
atives  themselves  ought  to  study  this  sub 
ject  and  learn  to  make  their  own  adjust- 

73 


CONSERVATION  FOR 

ments.     A  few  will  find  higher  as  well  as 
better-adapted  tasks. 

Some  are  hewers  of  wood  that  ought  to 
be  drawers  of  water.  Good  blacksmiths 
would  be  poets,  but  rarely  are ;  and  some 
excellent  bookkeepers  believe  they  can  run 
a  hotel,  a  newspaper  or  a  bank.  Ambitions 
for  better  vocations  are  always  laudable,  but 
the  best  ambition  for  every  man  is  to  do 
well  the  possible,  and  carefully  to  test  his 
wings  for  higher  flights  before  he  attempts 
to  soar  very  far ;  but  he  ought  to  soar  if  he 
can,  and  if  he  cannot  he  owes  it  to  himself 
to  be  happy  and  efficient  in  his  particular 
vocation  on  the  jogging  earth. 

III. 

The  third  element  of  conservation  is  spir 
itual.  Have  ideals,  but  not  impossible  ones ; 
be  cheerful,  don't  hate  things  and  people; 
remember  the  sun  is  shining  beyond  the 
clouds  or  the  earth,  and  that  we  shall  see  it 
again.  We  can  do  many  things,  but  not 
create  perpetual  motion  or  lift  ourselves  by 
our  boot-straps. 

We  have  foolish  ideals  that  cost  money. 
We  waste  nervous  energy  in  envy  of  our 
neighbors  who  spend  more  money  than  we 
can  afford  to ;  we  run  in  debt  for  clothes  and 
luxuries,  and  when  we  find  our  pace  is  too 

74 


THE  INDIVIDUAL 

rapid  we  break  our  hearts  or  steal  rather 
than  let  our  friends  and  enemies  see  us  re 
trench.  This  sort  of  foolish  ambition  and 
vanity  is  one  of  the  greatest  obstacles  to 
personal  conservation ;  it  makes  the  prospect 
for  some  of  us  hopeless.  The  ambition  to 
strut  and  show  off,  to  be  able  in  a  mean  way 
to  look  down  upon  others,  is  an  egoistic 
frost  that  in  too  many  of  us  blights  the  best 
chance  of  worthy  success.  And  vanity  is  so 
easily  hurt,  while  simplicity  is  so  helpful 
and  so  easily  found  if  only  we  have  eyes  to 
see. 


IV. 


Every  man  should  have  some  interest  out 
side  his  daily  work,  some  avocation,  some  fad 
even,  with  his  regular  vocation.  This  may 
be  church,  lodge,  labor  union,  politics,  or 
some  art  or  study.  It  relieves  the  tedium 
of  his  work  and  makes  him  stronger  for  it. 
But  woe  to  the  man  who  lets  his  fad  retard 
his  work,  for  then  it  fails  of  its  purpose — 
unless  his  fad  becomes  a  new  occupation. 
One  of  his  avocations  should  always  be  to 
achieve  more  knowledge  of  his  business  and 
of  everything  related  to  it.  Another  duty  is 
to  study  and  further  some  good  cause  in  the 
interest  of  such  people  as  himself  or  for 
all  the  people.  Our  working  people  are 

75 


CONSERVATION  FOR 

probably  less  efficient  in  their  common  ef 
forts  than  are  those  of  certain  European 
countries,  notably  England.  There  men  are 
more  likely  to  unite  on  one  measure  of 
amelioration  that  is  attainable,  while  we  are 
apt  to  follow  the  rainbow  of  some  Utopian 
ideal  that  promises  to  cure  all  the  ills  of  our 
social  and  economic  life,  and  fails. 

Some  of  our  labor  union  people  expend  a 
vast  amount  of  energy  and  money  in  seek 
ing  legislation  that  will  stop  the  courts  from 
preventing  violence  on  the  part  of  the  union 
men  against  non-union  men  during  strikes. 
But  that  runs  against  the  notions  of  fairness 
and  good  order  held  by  a  great  part  of  the 
community,  as  it  seems  to  run  against  the 
Constitution. 

The  laudable  unions  insist  that  the  less 
efficient  man  shall  receive  as  high  a  wage 
as  the  more  efficient  one.  That  is  a  fine  ex 
ample  of  altruism,  especially  when  the  bet 
ter  man  agrees  to  it ;  but  the  public  finds 
difficulty  in  quite  approving.  On  the  other 
hand,  every  effort  to  limit  by  law  the  hours 
of  work,  especially  for  women  and  children, 
and  to  improve  the  physical  and  health  con 
ditions  under  which  work  by  numbers  of 
people  is  carried  on,  virtually  so  that  the 
weaker  ones  may  not  break  down,  meets 
with  the  hearty  approval  of  a  great  ma 
jority  of  all  the  people. 

76 


THE  INDIVIDUAL 

V. 

A  great  problem  of  conservation  is  how 
really  to  save  the  money  we  have  for  sav 
ings.  The  investments  of  the  average  man 
are  often  unsuccessful.  Why?  The  first 
reason  is  the  gambling  spirit  that  resides  in 
most  of  us,  the  love  of  risk  in  hope  of  great 
and  unearned  gains.  Every  business  man 
knows  that  on  the  average  bonds  are  a  safer 
investment  and  less  speculative  than  stocks ; 
yet  most  poor  men  and  nearly  all  poor 
women  will  invest  in  stocks  rather  than 
bonds,  especially  if  they  have  a  hint  of  pros 
pective  dividends.  And  they  usually  get 
more  than  a  hint  from  the  stock  sellers.  We 
are  addled  by  the  stories  of  the  easy  and 
mostly  fanciful  gains  of  others,  and  the  real 
gains  of  the  successful  always  look  larger 
than  they  are. 

Another  reason  is  the  reluctance  of  per 
sons  of  small  means  to  seek  and  take  the 
advice  of  those  who  have  made  fortunes. 
If  we  are  to  build  a  house  or  a  garment  we 
readily  seek  the  counsel  of  those  who  have 
created  such  things,  but  when  we  would 
build  a  fortune  we  usually  take  the  inter 
ested  counsel  of  those  who  have  themselves 
failed,  but  who  have  roseate  schemes  of  easy 
money-making.  Our  post  office  department 
recently  closed  a  number  of  fraud  invest- 

77 


CONSERVATION  FOR 

ment  concerns,  and  estimates  that  these  had 
already  robbed  the  people  of  $80,000,000. 
Over  $30,000,000  is  paid  annually  in  this 
country  for  advertising  fake  financial 
schemes.  The  inference  is  irresistible. 

There  are  many  kinds  of  advice  by  wise 
people  for  small  investors.  One  is  to  buy 
a  home  and  stop  paying  rent.  This  is  good 
advice  for  the  home-loving  instinct  and  for 
people  who  would  otherwise  squander  their 
money.  Many  a  man  needs  a  mortgage  on 
his  house  to  lead  him  to  be  economical.  But 
a  rented  house  usually  costs  less  than  an 
owned  one,  and  a  workman  who  must 
change  his  residence  to  a  distant  city  usu 
ally  loses  money  on  his  home  when  he  tries 
to  sell  it.  The  man  who  puts  his  small 
money  into  a  savings  bank  of  the  stronger 
kind,  or  into  a  safety  box  and  keeps  the  fact  a 
secret  from  his  neighbors,  usually  can  move 
to  a  distant  city  and  carry  with  him  what 
fortune  soever  he  has.  But  money  in  the 
bank  or  the  safety  box  is  sometimes  a  great 
temptation  toward  picture-hats  and  auto 
mobiles,  and  other  beautiful  things  in  the 
world  that  money  will  buy. 

Finally,  the  largest  step  of  all  in  personal 
conservation  is  to  educate  the  children  in 
manifold  expert  things,  with  and  without 
tools ;  in  the  things  also  that  make  for  their 

78 


THE  INDIVIDUAL 

own  health  and  power,  and  in  the  economies 
of  life. 

For  thirty  years  or  more  there  has  been 
going  on  in  this  country  a  change  in  our 
educational  methods  in  many  schools  and 
colleges.  The  change  has  been  toward  more 
practical  work,  which  means  practical  use 
fulness;  it  has  largely  taken  the  form  of 
manual  training  and  practical  arts.  They 
began  in  a  few  schools  and  have  spread  to 
many,  so  that  today  in  most  of  the  larger 
cities  there  are  manual  training  high  schools 
and  some  sloyd  in  the  primary  and  grammar 
grades.  More  laboratory  methods  are  in 
vogue  in  all  the  higher  institutions  of  learn 
ing,  including  the  high  schools.  These 
methods  are  not  only  more  interesting  than 
any  other,  but  they  start  the  student  more 
directly  into  the  work  of  life,  even  into 
actual  vocations,  and  enable  him  to  test  his 
own  powers  and  find  his  own  best  life  trail. 

The  tendency  of  all  this  change  is  toward 
education  in  efficiency,  otherwise  in  per 
sonal  conservation.  The  man  who  as  child 
and  youth  had  this  kind  of  a  practical  train 
ing  has  been  more  efficient  in  business  and 
more  useful  in  the  community  than  his  fel 
low  who,  with  an  equal  start,  was  otherwise 
educated.  The  contention  was  freely  made 
at  the  beginning  that  these  new  methods 
were  a  degradation  in  education,  that  they 

79 


CONSERVATION  FOR 

could  not  and  cannot  discipline  the  mind 
like  the  ancient  languages  and  mathematics. 
More  than  twenty  years  ago  there  was  intro 
duced  into  the  curriculum  of  a  seminary 
for  young  ladies  in  Massachusetts  a  course 
in  domestic  science,  even  cooking  and  the 
making  of  clothes,  and  a  storm  of  protest 
was  made  by  school  men  in  seminaries  and 
colleges  the  country  over,  against  what  they 
declared  to  be  a  lowering  of  educational 
ideals,  if  not  the  lowering  of  womanhood. 
These  objections  have  not  been  demon 
strated  to  be  true,  and  they  are  wholly 
untrue,  but  if  they  were  true  it  would  be  a 
sorry  comment  on  education  to  have  a  lot 
of  men  and  women  more  disciplined  in  mind 
by  the  classics,  and  less  efficient  in  life. 

Education  should  increase  power  to  do 
things,  to  move  the  wheels  of  the  world's 
progress.  An  education  that  fails  in  this 
particular  fails  indeed.  And  this  grasp-giv 
ing  education  need  not  and  should  not  lead 
us  either  to  neglect  or  despise  the  wisdom 
of  the  ages  as  to  the  purposes  of  life  and 
the  principles  of  ethics  that  are  everlasting. 
Many  of  the  things  that  Epictetus  and  Plato 
and  Aristotle  and  Emerson  have  taught  so 
fit  the  needs  of  the  human  race,  that  they 
will  be  wisdom  always. 

Much  has  been  done  for  economic  educa 
tion — much  remains  to  be  done.  If  men  and 

80 


THE  INDIVIDUAL 

women  think  on  these  things  of  and  for 
themselves,  they  will  think  of  them  for  their 
children,  and  see  that  their  children  have 
the  best. 

Lastly  and  aphorismically  we  may  say : 

1.  Healthy  men  reach  any  goal  ahead  of 
the  sickly  ones.    So  health  is  an  asset. 

2.  Men  strong  in  body  and  mind  reach 
the  goal  ahead  of  the  weak  ones.    So  power 
is  an  asset. 

3.  Continuity   of   purpose    and    industry 
land   us   ahead   of  vacillation   and   laziness. 
The  logic  of  values  seems  clear. 

4.  The   man   broadly  educated    for    the 
thing  he  is  to  do  (whether  educated  in  or 
out  of  school)  usually  outstrips  his  unedu 
cated  fellow.     So  it  is  worth  while  to  ob 
serve  and  learn. 

5.  The   boy   or   man   whose   fingers   are 
stained  yellow  from  cigarettes  usually  falls 
behind  in  the  race,  other  things  being  equal. 
The   same   is  true  of  other  poisons  of  the 
brain,    like    alcohol,    hasheesh,    opium,    and 
even  tea  and  coffee.     The  trainers  of  ath 
letic  teams  and  boxers  have  found  out  a  few 
things   to   a   certainty,   and   the    laboratory 
students  are  not  fools,  and  they  are  right  in 
their  recent  studies  on  alcohol,  showing  its 
reducing  effect  on  the   work   of  brain  and 
body. 

6.  The  boys  and  men  who  indulge  oc- 

81 


CONSERVATION  FOR 

casionally  or  often  in  excessive  orgies  or 
exhausting  pleasures  are  more  likely  than 
others  to  fall  out  of  the  ranks  early.  The 
true  philosophy  of  life  is  the  greatest  total 
ity  of  joy  in  all  the  years ;  not  intensive  joys 
followed  by  recoils  in  the  shape  of  the  morn 
ing  head  and  trembling  limbs. 

7.  The  man  who  studies  his  job  and  im 
proves  his  tools,  who  saves  his  energy  in 
doing   it,    does    it   more    quickly    than    his 
thoughtless  neighbor,  and  often  has  a  better 
job  coming. 

8.  The  man  who  is  honest  with  his  work 
and  himself  gets  on  easier  than  the  other 
man,  for  at  least  he  taxes  his  memory  less. 

9.  Cheerfulness,   optimism,   kindliness — 
without  deceiving  ourselves — help    in    the 
race  for  success,  for  health  and  for  the  larg 
est  sum  total  of  happiness.     Let  him  who 
doubts  try  them ! 


82 


Am  I  Really  My  Brother's 
Keeper? 


Am  I  Really  My  Brother's 
Keeper?* 

A  New  Doctrine  in  Social  Ethics 


Not  long  ago  a  woman,  not  too  old  to  take 
an  active  interest  in  the  affairs  of  the  day, 
told  of  a  journey  she  made  when  she  was 
young.  It  was  from  New  York  to  St.  Louis, 
and  she  took  the  most  rapid  means  then  in 
existence  by  which  a  young  woman  might 
properly  travel.  She  went  to  Albany  by 
steamboat,  then  to  Buffalo  by  canalboat 
drawn  by  horses,  then  to  the  Ohio  River  by 
stage,  thence  to  Cairo  by  steamboat,  and 
finally  to  St.  Louis  by  another  steamboat. 
Many  days  were  occupied  in  the  journey. 

The  changes  from  that  day  to  this,  in  the 
methods  of  travel,  are  no  greater  than  the 
changes  in  nearly  every  other  phase  of  our 
social  and  industrial  life.  With  all  the 
changes,  our  community  life  has  become 


*A    discourse    delivered    in    the    Westminster    Presbyterian 
Church,  Minneapolis,  Minn.,  Sunday,  June  15,  1913. 

85 


AM  I  REALLY 

closer,  and  our  individual  lives  more  depend 
ent  upon  each  other  and  more  artificial.  New 
social  problems  confront  us  every  year,  and 
many  of  the  old  ones  go  unsolved.  For  their 
solution  we  have  many  theories,  which  we 
have  to  change  from  time  to  time,  as  they 
are  disproven  or  fail  of  success. 

The  fact  that  we  are  more  closely  bound 
to  each  other  socially,  has  made  it  necessary 
that  we  should  change  gradually  our  laws 
and  customs,  for  our  better  protection  and 
for  the  economic  benefits  of  society.  The 
demand  is  just  as  great  that  we  shall  con 
tinually  remodel  our  measures  for  mutual 
protection  from  the  standpoint  of  our  physi 
cal,  moral  and  spiritual  health,  and  our  last 
ing  power  for  work  and  enjoyment. 

Our  progress  is  irregular,  rarely  steady; 
and  in  our  mutations  we  cling  to  a  few  doc 
trines  that  seem  to  anchor  us  to  the  bed 
rock  of  the  philosophy  of  human  life.  Some 
of  these  principles  help,  others  hinder  and 
must  be  abandoned,  so  occasionally  a  cher 
ished  child  of  our  reasoning  brain — one  that 
we  had  thought  to  be  immaculate — must  be 
set  adrift  and  abandoned.  And  it  costs  tears 
to  do  it. 

We  love  phrases  and  aphorisms.  That 
"All  men  are  created  equal"  rings  in  our  ears 
as  though  it  must  be  true;  but  all  men  are 
not  equal,  nor  can  they  be,  save  in  title  to 

86 


MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER? 

human  rights,  and  they  are  not  so  created. 
We  are  unequal  in  size,  in  form,  in  powers, 
in  tastes  and  in  capacity  to  work,  to  appre 
hend  and  to  enjoy.  Most  of  us  are  handi 
capped  in  some  way  by  comparison  with  the 
average  or  the  ideal  man,  and  those  of  us 
who  by  birth  or  accident  are  weak,  deformed 
or  unlovely,  struggle  to  do  and  be  what  we 
cannot,  and  we  fret  and  rebel  because  we 
cannot.  The  cure  for  this  form  of  grief  is 
to  do  what  we  can  do  best,  and  do  our  very 
best  at  it,  and  not  attempt  the  impossible. 
Weak  men  or  strong  men,  tall  men  or  short, 
there  is  a  job  for  every  kind  of  a  man. 
The  honor  is  in  doing  the  job  well,  what 
ever  it  may  be. 

It  is  a  cardinal  truth  that  one  ought  not  to 
waste  his  powers  or  ruin  his  opportunities. 
No  man  has  a  right  to  mortgage  his  future 
for  present  joy.  This  gospel  is  as  old  as  the 
history  of  the  race.  The  story  of  Faust  is 
only  one  of  a  thousand  efforts  to  teach  this 
truth.  It  is  wrong,  too,  for  any  man  to  ob 
struct  or  interfere  with  the  weal  or  rights  of 
another.  Every  child  has  the  inherent  natural 
right  to  his  largest  possible  development, 
physical,  mental  and  spiritual.  He  has  a 
right  to  his  race  in  life,  and  the  best  and  fair 
est  that  he  can  run,  and  his  neighbors  and 
society  ought  to  help  him  always,  and  never 
hinder. 

87 


AM  I  REALLY 

But  accidents  happen  along  the  way,  and 
they  hinder,  and  they  often  destroy.  Be 
cause  of  the  increased  complexity  of  our  liv 
ing,  the  sum  total  of  accidents  still  reaches 
a  very  high  figure.  With  all  our  precautions 
and  care,  our  manifold  safety  devices  and 
the  sane  Fourth  of  July,  our  mortality,  espe 
cially  among  children,  is  frightful;  multi 
tudes  die  and  other  multitudes  are  blighted, 
dwarfed  and  crippled,  and  compelled  to  lives 
of  suffering  and  woe — a  lifetime  of  grief  for 
a  casual  firecracker,  a  death  from  a  mouth 
ful  of  carbolic  acid. 

Unquestionably  the  greatest  danger  to  life 
and  happiness  is  from  the  micro-organisms 
of  disease  that  beset  us  on  every  hand.  We 
fight  and  struggle  against  them  unceasingly. 
We  all  live  militant  lives;  the  religion  of 
complete  non-resistance  is  impossible.  There 
are  no  non-combatants  among  us;  and  the 
microbes  destroy  most  of  us  finally. 

A  hundred  different  diseases  threaten  us, 
some  mild,  others  mortal.  Some  come  to  us 
from  we  know  not  whence,  some  we  know 
pass  from  person  to  person — that  is,  they  are 
contagious ;  their  microbic  causes  enter  our 
bodies,  perhaps  to  kill  or  cripple  us,  then 
pass  into  the  bodies  of  others,  and  through 
them  to  still  others,  successively,  in  a  chain 
that  is  endless. 

One  of  the  greatest  problems  of  this  day 


MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER? 

is  that  of  preventable  deaths,  which  the  sci 
ences  of  bacteriology  and  hygiene  are  trying 
to  solve.  How  can  we  circumvent  the  micro 
organisms  that  would  destroy  us?  That  is 
the  great  question  crying  for  answer. 

We  daily  distribute  mortal  diseases — in 
ignorance  mostly,  and  we  constantly  con 
tribute  to  accidents  so-called.  We  do  this  in 
heedlessness,  and  we  are  blunderers  every 
day,  where  we  need  carefulness,  thought, 
attention  and  caution.  After  the  havoc  is 
done,  we  say,  "I  didn't  know  the  gun  was 
loaded,"  or  "I  didn't  know  that  the  fuse  was 
ready  to  go  off,"  or  "I  didn't  see  how  a  mild 
hazing  of  the  boy  could  possibly  kill  him," 
or  "I  didn't  suppose  my  expectoration  could 
give  to  another  diphtheria  or  consumption, 
or  that  my  kiss  could  produce  a  sore  lip  that 
would  infect  the  victim's  whole  body  and 
blight  his  life  and  maybe  that  of  his  chil 
dren."  Or  again,  we  say,  "God  is  good,  dis 
ease  is  a  myth ;  the  thing  could  not  happen." 
But  it  does  happen,  and  the  microbes  of 
diphtheria  and  consumption  and  syphilis  are 
no  respecters  of  persons,  or  of  our  theology ; 
and  they  have  no  mercy  on  our  delusions. 

Our  public  and  personal  duty  today  is  em 
phasized  by  the  history  of  a  few  diseases 
that  are  prevalent  among  us,  that  destroy 
large  numbers  of  people,  that  are  communi 
cable  from  person  to  person,  and  that  are 

89 


AM  I  REALLY 

preventable.  Let  me  refer  to  a  few  of  them 
in  some  detail,  and  first  to  two  that  are  mat 
ters  of  common  knowledge,  namely  tuber 
culosis  and  typhoid  fever. 

Tuberculosis  is  due  to  the  tubercle  bacil 
lus.  Many  of  the  lower  animals  have  it, 
notably  cattle,  through  whose  milk  we  may 
acquire  the  disease.  In  the  human  lung,  it  is 
consumption.  It  kills  probably  twelve  per 
cent,  of  us  all,  and  it  cripples  or  handicaps 
perhaps  twenty  per  cent,  more;  and  much 
over  fifty  per  cent,  of  all  people  have  it  some 
time  in  their  lives,  somewhere  in  their  bod 
ies.  It  is  largely  preventable  by  clean  food, 
avoiding  milk  from  tuberculous  cows,  by 
pure  air  to  breathe  —  which  means  mostly 
outdoor  air — and  most  by  destruction  of  the 
sputum  from  all  the  patients.  And  the  de 
struction  of  all  the  sputum  from  all  the  pa 
tients  is  a  great  problem.  It  requires  a  hun 
dredfold  more  care  than  has  been  given  it; 
practically  the  thing  has  never  been  done, 
perhaps  never  can  be  done.  Knowing  the 
danger  to  others  from  carelessness  about 
sputum,  both  the  patients  and  their  friends 
have  a  great  responsibility,  which  is  little 
appreciated.  The  sanatoriums  for  the  care 
and  cure  of  the  disease  are  now  so  many  and 
so  useful,  that  they  make  us  feel  that  the 
Christ  is  walking  the  earth  again.  They  are 
mostly  the  product  of  the  last  quarter  of  a 

90 


MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER? 

century ;  and  Dr.  Trudeau  was  the  leader  in 
this  country. 

Typhoid  fever  is  due  to  a  specific  bacillus. 
Its  deaths  are  fewer  than  from  tuberculosis, 
and  it  is  to  a  large  extent  preventable.  It  is 
usually  acquired  through  drinking-water, 
milk  and  food,  contaminated  with  the  mi 
crobes,  which  are  also  often  carried  by  the 
feet  of  flies.  Do  not  eat  or  drink  the  mi 
crobes  ;  have  clean  food,  water  and  milk ;  kill 
the  flies ;  prevent  their  multiplication.  Re 
member  that  flies  multiply  chiefly  in  the 
offal  from  stables,  especially  horse  stables, 
and  that  the  prompt  shoveling  of  such  offal 
into  fly-tight  receptacles  would  probably  re 
duce  the  number  of  flies  ninety  per  cent.  In 
the  presence  of  an  epidemic  of  this  disease, 
or  when  we  fear  to  go  on  long  journeys  lest 
we  might  contract  it,  we  may  invoke  that 
wizard  of  bacteriology,  the  typhoid  vaccine, 
which  will  effectively  protect  us  from  this 
danger  for  at  least  a  year  or  two.  Recent 
army  experiences  have  proven  this  state 
ment  beyond  a  question.  They  have  saved 
many  thousands  of  lives,  and  abolished  one 
of  the  age-long  scourges  of  armies.  The 
vaccine  is  a  fluid  containing  dead  and  well- 
pickled  typhoid  bacilli ;  and  it  is  quite  harm 
less.  It  bids  fair  to  come  into  common  use. 

Now,  let  me  refer  to  two  diseases  that  are 
never  discussed  freely  among  all  the  people. 

91 


AM  I  REALLY 

About  them  there  has  been  a  conspiracy  of 
silence ;  they  have  been  spoken  of  under  the 
breath,  as  we  speak  of  ghosts  and  skeletons 
in  unexpected  closets,  and  as  though,  some 
how,  that  half  of  mankind  that  is  most  inter 
ested — the  female  half — ought  not  to  know 
anything  about  them.  This  sinful  silence, 
grounded  in  masculine  egoism  and  selfish 
ness,  has  made  them  actually  the  ghosts  #nd 
closet  skeletons  of  all  the  ages,  and  largely 
because  of  that  deadly  foible  called  prudery. 
Prudery  is  a  social  habit  by  which  we  try  to 
identify  ignorance  as  innocence,  and  by 
which  we  show  our  low  estimate  of  the  com 
mon  sense  of  the  persons  we  talk  to ;  but  the 
cheat  is  transparent,  and  usually  reveals  our 
own  lack  of  common  sense.  We  seem  never 
to  tire  of  doing  and  saying  things  to  others 
to  show  that  we  are  as  shallow  as  we  be 
lieve  them  to  be.  The  purest-minded  people 
in  the  world  are  those  who  have  a  reverent 
respect  for  all  knowledge  that  concerns  their 
own  weal,  and  who  lift  their  faces  una 
shamed  at  having  that  knowledge,  and  hav 
ing  others  know  that  they  have  it. 

One  of  the  diseases  in  this  prude's  cata 
logue  is  syphilis.  Its  microbic  cause  is 
known.  The  disease  infests  and  infects  the 
whole  human  system.  It  rarely  kills  quickly. 
It  often  does  worse ;  it  causes  aneurisms  and 
other  degenerations  of  the  blood  vessels, 

92 


MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER? 

apoplexies,  blindness,  destructive  tumors  in 
the  vital  organs,  locomotor  ataxia,  and  mis 
carriages.  It  is  transmitted  to  children  whom 
it  blights  or  kills.  It  does  other  havoc  not 
necessary  to  be  listed  here. 

The  disease  germs  enter  through  mucous 
membranes,  and  through  wounds  and  abra 
sions  of  the  skin.  It  may  be  spread  by  pub 
lic  drinking-cups,  and  by  kissing  the  lips ; 
but  in  the  vast  majority  of  cases  it  is  ac 
quired  by  impure  sexual  relations. 

How  to  prevent  the  disease  is  obvious. 
Avoid  the  infection  where  it  exists ;  that 
seems  easy,  but  it  has  taxed  the  philosophers 
for  centuries  with  small  success. 

Equally  destructive  with  the  disease  just 
named,  its  twin  menace  to  life  and  happi 
ness,  is  another  that  is  communicated  sim 
ilarly  and  is  known  as  the  Neisserian  infec 
tion  or  gonorrhea,  due  to  the  gonococcus, 
the  minutest  dot  of  a  microbe  as  it  is  seen 
under  the  microscope.  This  microbe  enters 
the  blood,  and  travels  to  all  the  organs,  in 
many  of  which  it  produces  local  disease.  It 
enters  mostly  through  the  mucous  mem 
branes,  many  of  which  it  cripples  or  de 
stroys.  In  the  eyes  of  new-born  infants  it 
produces  a  spiteful  inflammation — called 
gonorrheal  ophthalmia — that  often  causes 
permanent  blindness.  Hence,  we  have  blind 
asylums  at  public  expense,  and  we  have 

93 


AM  I  REALLY 

laws  in  many  states  which  make  it  a  mis 
demeanor,  if  not  a  felony,  for  any  person  to 
know  of  a  new-born  infant  with  sore  eyes 
and  without  a  physician,  if  he  does  not  not 
ify  the  public  authorities  or  call  a  physician 
himself.  These  laws  are  beneficent;  they 
tend  to  prevent  blindness,  and  save  the  ba 
bies  to  possible  useful  lives,  and  so  keep 
them  out  of  the  asylums.  Between  6000  and 
7000  blind  persons  are  now  living  in  the  va 
rious  asylums  in  the  United  States,  whose 
blindness  was  caused  in  this  way.  The  best 
estimates  are  that  10  to  25  per  cent,  of  all 
the  blind  in  all  countries  are  victims  of  this 
one  infective  cause. 

Stiffening  of  joints  may  result  from  this 
disease.  They  become  disabled,  and  nearly 
every  joint  of  the  body  may  become  in 
volved,  the  disease  usually  lasting  through  a 
life  of  helplessness.  The  so-called  ossified 
man  of  the  museum  is  a  familiar  example. 

It  produces  abscesses  and  other  changes 
in  the  pelvic  organs  of  women,  leading  to 
probably  one-half  of  all  the  surgical  opera 
tions  performed  upon  women  ;  and  it  induces 
barrenness  and  life-long  invalidism  to  many 
of  its  victims. 

These  two  infections  probably  cause  more 
conjugal  diseases  and  more  infelicity,  more 
wrecking  of  lives  and  blighting  of  promised 
careers  than  any  other  thing,  save  possibly 

94 


MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER? 

the  use  of  alcoholic  liquors:  and  drinking 
very  often  leads  to  the  contraction  of  these 
diseases.  President  Jordan  has  told  me  that 
college  students  addicted  to  drinking,  even 
to  a  moderate  degree,  nearly  always  acquire 
one  or  both  of  these  infections.  So  he  made 
a  struggle,  which  once  led  to  a  near  riot,  in 
order  to  banish  alcoholics  from  the  campus, 
and  to  send  home  students  found  drinking 
off  the  campus. 

A  thing  that  tends  to  purity  and  safety  is 
physical  labor  for  the  young  man,  whether 
student  or  not.  One  of  the  best  forms  for 
students  is,  of  course,  athletics,  school  and 
college  athletics.  Many  students  work  their 
way  through  school  and  college ;  and  this  is 
even  better  than  athletics,  because  it  fosters 
democracy  and  a  better  understanding  of 
life's  values.  Work  develops  muscle  and  the 
best  qualities  of  the  brain,  drives  nonsense 
out  of  the  youthful  mind,  and  teaches  it  to 
shun  pitfalls,  and  to  know  and  avoid  many 
of  the  calamities  of  life.  It  has  exactly  the 
opposite  effect  on  moral  conduct  and 
thought  to  that  of  alcoholic  stimulants.  So, 
let  every  young  man  pray  not  for  an  easy 
time  and  freedom  from  work,  but  for  all 
kinds  of  severe  burdens  and  for  strength  to 
bear  them.  The  favorite  notion  and  aim  of 
men  grown  rich  after  early  poverty  and  toil, 
is  that  their  sons  shall  not  have  to  work  as 

95 


AM  I  REALLY 

they  had  to  in  their  youth.  They  could  hardly 
invent  a  program  more  sure  to  ruin  their 
sons  than  this.  And  it  has  ruined  them  in 
this  country  by  the  thousand — ruined  them 
physically,  mentally  and  spiritually,  and  al 
lowed  poorer  boys,  with  fewer  so-called  ad 
vantages,  to  outstrip  them  in  all  the  telling 
ventures  of  life. 

It  is  pitiful  that  virility  and  power  in  the 
world's  business  should  make  it  needful  for 
a  little  more  caution,  fear,  and  self-restraint 
than  the  average  youth  has,  in  order  to  keep 
him  from  such  a  calamity  as  to  acquire 
either  of  these  blighting  diseases.  From  time 
immemorial,  those  who  love  their  kind  have 
struggled  to  teach  men  to  shun  this  danger, 
and  have  not  succeeded  very  greatly. 

What  can  be  done  that  will  make  the  suc 
cess  greater?  One  thing  that  I  am  sure 
would  help  mightily  is  more  knowledge  on 
the  part  of  the  people,  young  and  old — 
wholesome  knowledge  without  prudery.  Ig 
norance  is  the  great  obstacle;  every  young 
person  ought  to  know  the  facts;  and  boys 
and  girls  are  eager  for  all  the  facts  of  their 
own  physiology.  To  know  is  to  be  armed 
and  protected.  They  must  be  taught  regu 
larly  and  wisely.  They  can  never  have  such 
teaching  in  coeducational  classes.  There, 
every  text  book  on  anatomy  and  physiology 
is  shorn  of  any  reference  to  the  vital  facts  of 

96 


MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER? 

life  wherein  men  and  women  differ  from 
each  other — the  text  books  are  absolutely 
neuter.  And  all  oral  teaching  shuns  this 
knowledge  as  though  it  were  a  pestilence. 

Do  you  think  it  is  fair  to  the  boys  and 
girls  to  hide  from  them  all  intimate  knowl 
edge  of  a  most  potent  part  of  their  natures, 
while  we  \vorry  because  they  use  slang,  put 
their  elbows  on  the  table  at  dinner,  and  for 
get  to  turn  down  the  bedclothes  after  get 
ting  out  of  bed  in  the  morning?  You  seri 
ously  ask  the  family  doctor  to  have  a  heart 
to  heart  talk  with  your  son,  and  frighten  him 
from  smoking  cigarettes,  which  you  think 
are  likely  to  be  his  ruination.  But  the  doc 
tor  knows  of  worse  influences  that  are  pull 
ing  him  down  to  destruction — and  to  which 
you  are  blind.  You  love  your  son,  and  you 
would  snatch  him  away  from  every  preci 
pice  that  you  think  of;  but  you  forget  the 
one  hidden  in  the  mists,  down  which  he  is 
most  likely  to  fall.  The  doctor  knows  about 
that  only  too  well. 

You  wish  your  daughter  to  be  innocent, 
so  you  keep  her  ignorant,  and  you  picture  a 
time  when  some  good  and  gentle  man  will 
make  love  to  her,  always  in  a  romantic  man 
ner.  But  she  inwardly  rebels  at  her  restric 
tions,  and  is  looking  for  a  young  fellow  with 
strong  muscles,  capable  of  hitting  hard,  and 
of  using  stronger  language  than  she  dares  to 

97 


AM  I  REALLY 

use.  She  would  be  a  fit  companion  for  such 
a  stalwart  if  you  would  let  her. 

The  rising  generation  have  us  indicted  for 
unfairly  treating  them ;  for  defrauding  them. 
The  best  remedy  of  repentance  in  sight  for 
us  is  to  teach  them,  inform  them,  educate 
them.  I  would  have  lectures  given  regular 
ly  to  both  boys  and  girls  of  proper  age,  by 
wise  and  sympathetic  physicians — of  their 
own  sex  of  course.  And  in  almost  every 
community  such  physicians  are  to  be  found 
— both  men  and  women — who  would  gladly 
give  their  services  for  this  purpose.  But  this 
being  one  of  the  most  vital  parts  of  the 
proper  education  of  the  young,  there  is  no 
reason  why  the  public  should  not  pay  for  it, 
as  it  pays  for  reading  and  writing. 

This  sort  of  uplifting  instruction  has  now 
been  done  in  enough  communities  to  prove 
its  great  value  to  the  young  people.  Their 
satisfaction  in  the  knowledge  gained  has 
been  great ;  and,  best  of  all,  their  saner  view 
of  life,  their  higher  ideals  and  wider  sympa 
thies,  their  more  wholesome  friendships  and 
greater  helpfulness  to  each  other,  have 
shown  that  this  is  a  missionary  effort  that  is 
as  effective  and  useful  as  any  on  earth.  It 
is  a  home  missionary  work  in  a  double  sense 
— it  is  done  here  at  home,  and  it  makes  for 
better  homes  here. 

The   perils   of   the   marriage   altar,   from 

98 


MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER? 

communicable  diseases,  have  of  late  been 
much  in  the  public  mind.  Almost  every  wo 
man  comes  to  her  marriage  pure  and  free  of 
such  disorders.  Women  are  better  than 
men ;  for  many  men  go  to  the  altar  infected 
or  uncured  of  their  previous  infections.  Of 
course  most  of  these  would  refuse  to  marry 
if  they  believed  themselves  to  be  dangerous. 
But  many  of  them,  on  this  subject,  are  care 
less,  selfish  and  inconsiderate. 

Against  this  awful  calamity  many  of  the 
American  clergy  have  set  their  faces.  Some 
require  that  all  candidates  coming  to  them 
for  marriage  shall  bring  a  physician's  cer 
tificate  of  health.  All  honor  to  these  men; 
but  it  is  doubtful  that  they  can  succeed  as 
well  as  they  deserve  to.  For  unworthy  or 
hesitating  candidates  are  liable  to  seek  less 
exacting  clergy,  or  to  bring  certificates  from 
accommodating  physicians,  or  from  those 
who  are  careless  and  superficial  in  their 
examinations,  or  who  know  little  of  the 
modern  methods  of  hunting  for  the  gono- 
coccus,  and  who  therefore  make  number 
less  mistakes.  I  heartily  wish  that  it  were 
possible  to  make  such  a  regulation  of  mar 
riage,  that  could  be  effectively  carried  out, 
for  it  is  needed  as  almost  no  other  reform. 

The  medical  profession  is  striving  in  the 
same  direction  as  the  clergy,  and  a  new  doc 
trine  in  medical  ethics  was  promulgated  in 

99 


AM  I  REALLY 

1912,  by  what  is,  in  its  influence,  the  great 
est  medical  authority  in  the  world.  That  is 
the  American  Medical  Association.  It  is  a 
nation-wide,  enormous,  non-sectarian  body; 
its  conditions  of  membership  are  correct 
conduct,  uprightness,  and  knowledge ;  not 
theology  or  even  belief  as  to  the  best  way  to 
cure  the  sick.  Its  requirements  are  general 
education,  and  knowledge  of  the  human 
body,  its  anatomy,  its  physiology  and  pa 
thology,  its  bacteriology  and  chemistry,  and 
the  influences  of  its  environment  that  may 
affect  it,  by  accident  or  design.  Its  member 
ship  is  in  every  part  of  the  country  (includ 
ing  our  far-away  possessions),  and  its  influ 
ence  is  everywhere  for  the  good  of  the 
people. 

More  than  a  half  century  ago  this  Asso 
ciation  promulgated  a  "Code  of  Medical 
Ethics"  that  stands  as  one  of  the  finest  ex 
pressions  of  personal  and  professional  ethics 
in  all  history;  it  is  based  on  the  Golden 
Rule  and  the  spirit  of  Christ.  In  1903,  de 
siring  a  briefer  and  simpler  statement,  it 
adopted  a  shorter  instrument,  known  as  the 
"Principles  of  Medical  Ethics,"  and  in  1912 
it  revised  these  Principles  and  added  a  new 
one,  which  constitutes  a  new  doctrine  in  so 
cial  morals.  Always,  one  of  its  cardinal 
principles  has  been  that  the  physician  should 

100 


MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER?-    . 


hold  in  sacred  confidence  anything  he  learns 
about  the  patient  in  his  examinations  made 
in  order  to  treat  him.  This  last  enactment 
reiterates  that  doctrine  (a  doctrine  that  is 
more  than  two  thousand  years  old),  and 
with  a  proviso  that  to  some  may  seem  start 
ling,  but  which  is  founded  in  essential  jus 
tice,  and  has  been  followed  independently 
by  some  physicians  for  many  years.  Listen 
to  the  beginning  paragraphs : 

"A  profession  has  for  its  prime  ob 
ject  the  service  it  can  render  to 
humanity ;  reward  or  financial  gain 
should  be  a  subordinate  consideration. 
The  practice  of  medicine  is  a  profes 
sion.  In  choosing  the  profession  an 
individual  assumes  an  obligation  to 
conduct  himself  in  accord  with  its 
ideals." 

"Patience  and  delicacy  should  char 
acterize  all  the  acts  of  a  physician. 
The  confidences  concerning  individual 
or  domestic  life  entrusted  by  a  patient 
to  a  physician,  and  the  defects  of  dis 
position  or  flaws  of  character  observed 
in  patients  during  medical  attendance 
should  be  held  as  a  trust,  and  should 
never  be  revealed  except  when  im 
peratively  required  by  the  laws  of 
the  State." 

101 


AM  I  REALLY 

Then  comes  the  proviso  that  qualifies 
what  stands  before,  and  here  it  is: 

"There  are  occasions,  however, 
when  a  physician  must  determine 
whether  or  not  his  duty  to  society 
requires  him  to  take  definite  action  to 
protect  a  healthy  individual  from  be 
coming  infected,  because  the  physi 
cian  has  knowledge,  obtained  through 
the  confidences  entrusted  to  him  as  a 
physician,  of  a  communicable  disease 
to  which  the  healthy  individual  is 
about  to  be  exposed.  In  such  a  case, 
the  physician  should  act  as  he  would 
desire  another  to  act  toward  one  of 
his  own  family  under  like  circum 
stances." 

This  proviso  means  one  thing,  and  one 
only,  namely,  the  altar,  and  the  danger  to 
the  health  and  life  of  a  woman.  It  means 
that  the  physician  may  now  say  to  his  pa 
tient,  as  a  thousand  times  he  would  like  to 
say:  "Your  confidences  in  my  keeping  as 
your  physician  are  sacred  unless  you  are 
likely,  through  your  infirmities,  to  commit  a 
crime  that  is  little  short  of  manslaughter. 
You  cannot  commit  that  crime,  with  my 
knowledge  of  the  facts  in  the  case,  without 
involving  me  in  some  constructive  participa 
tion  in  the  offense.  I  will  not  take  that  re 
sponsibility  and  follow  you  in  that  iniquity, 

102 


MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER? 

and  you  shall  not  do  it.  Your  recklessness, 
your  belief  in  what  you  do  not  know,  and 
your  foolhardiness  may  lead  you  to  wish  to 
neglect  this  injunction,  but  you  shall  not 
neglect  it.  If  I  knew  that  you  were  about 
to  destroy  your  neighbor's  house,  I  would  be 
legally  guilty  as  an  accessory  before  the 
fact,  if  I  did  not  notify  the  authorities.  Now, 
you  propose,  with  my  knowledge,  to  do  a 
thing  a  thousand  times  worse  than  to  de 
stroy  a  house,  and  you  would  do  this  to  a 
woman  whom  you  profess  to  love  and  re 
spect.  More  than  by  any  statute  I  am  bound 
in  honor  to  stop  you  if  I  can — and  I  can." 

Will  the  physician  have  the  courage  and 
humanity  to  say  that?  It  will  take  courage 
to  say  it,  but  he  will  not  falter  for  these 
words  will  ring  in  his  ears :  "In  such  a  case, 
the  physician  should  act  as  he  would  desire 
another  to  act  toward  one  of  his  own  family 
under  like  circumstances."  He  will  not  fal 
ter,  for  that  woman  is  his  sister  and  his 
daughter. 

In  a  strong  modern  play  called  "Damaged 
Goods,"  the  doctor,  in  effect,  says  to  the 
man :  "I  have  warned  you  of  the  calamity 
you  are  likely  to  produce,  and  I  wash  my 
hands  of  any  further  responsibility — you 
take  the  risk  and  the  responsibility."  That  is 
the  old  rule ;  and  it  is  pitifully  insufficient. 
The  American  physician  will  take  the  fur- 

103 


AM  I  REALLY 

ther  step,  and  if  necessary,  warn  the  woman 
or  her  parents. 

Nor  does  this  new  rule  lower  the  loyalty 
of  the  physician  to  mankind;  rather  it  en 
larges  it  by  extending  his  responsibility  to 
the  community;  not  merely  to  the  patient, 
but  also  to  his  friends  and  neighbors.  The 
physician's  duty  is  to  his  clients  and  to  the 
community. 

The  new  doctrine  is  not  for  the  spread  of 
any  form  of  religion  or  politics,  but  is  for  the 
benefit  of  the  natural  rights  of  all  women, 
children  and  men,  not  to  have  their  physical 
welfare  and  their  social  interests  outraged. 
One  of  the  doctor's  prescriptions  the  patient 
may  ignore  or  violate,  namely,  the  order  for 
his  medicine;  but  the  other  prescription, 
that  the  patient  must  not,  through  his  in 
firmity,  endanger  others,  he  may  not  ignore, 
because  if  he  does  he  may  commit  construc 
tive  manslaughter,  and  even  ruthlessly  in 
volve  his  physician  with  him.  When  the 
doctor  warns  a  patient  with  diphtheria  or 
smallpox,  that  he  must  stay  at  home  and 
keep  off  the  street,  if  he  violates  the  injunc 
tion,  the  physician  promptly  and  properly 
notifies  the  neighbors  to  avoid  him.  If,  un 
der  such  circumstances,  he  fails  so  to  notify, 
he  is  guilty  as  an  accessory,  and  his  neigh 
bors,  if  not  the  law,  will  so  hold  him. 

But  I  hear  you  ask:    Would  you  convict 

104 


MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER? 

every  young  man  who  asks  an  honest  wo 
man  to  marry  him?  No.  But  I  say  this — 
and  conscious  of  the  meaning  of  words  and 
of  the  way  words  fly,  and  after  the  confi 
dences  of  the  sick,  through  several  decades 
— that  the  infection  of  bridegrooms  is  suf 
ficiently  common  to  make  it  the  duty  of 
every  man  of  them  to  concede  the  right  of 
the  woman  and  her  parents  to  know  that  he 
is  clean.  And  every  worthy  man  of  them 
has  the  courage  to  be  willing  to  bring  the 
proof,  and  to  bring  it.  Furthermore,  it  is 
his  duty  to  bring  the  proof  without  being 
asked. 

Men  and  women  are  led  into  sin  occasion 
ally  by  intent,  more  often  by  blunders,  more 
often  still  by  pure  foolishness,  and  this  is  an 
indictment  against  a  large  part  of  the  human 
race.  It  is  an  indictment  that  holds  espe 
cially  against  many  masculine  youths.  The 
girls  may  be  as  foolish  as  the  boys,  but  they 
have  a  less  harmful  sort  of  folly.  It  is  the 
young  man  at  the  inflated  time  of  life  when 
he  has  an  ambition  to  know  about  the  world 
and  to  experiment  with  it,  who  is  in  peril. 
Up  to  a  certain  point  his  fear,  self-respect 
and  caution  protect  him.  Pray  God  they 
may  always  protect  him.  But  a  few  high 
balls  or  their  equivalent  of  beer  may  easily 
weaken  his  caution,  increase  his  vanity  and 
the  sense  of  his  own  importance,  and  make 

105 


AM  I  REALLY 

him  reckless.  Then,  if  it  is  night,  he  may 
become  like  a  prowling  cat,  ready  for  several 
sorts  of  adventure  that  he  would  not  like  to 
see  illustrated  by  flashlight  photographs  the 
next  day.  Thus  one  act  of  foolishness  leads 
to  another.  The  pity  of  it  is  that  the  youth 
may  emerge  from  a  single  adventure  handi 
capped  for  life.  That  is  a  terrible  penalty, 
and  one  apparently  out  of  all  proportion  to 
the  offense.  One  act  of  foolishness ;  then  an 
inexorable,  withering  blight  that  lasts  as 
long  as  life  and  even  shortens  life.  Nothing 
can  fit  such  a  case  but  a  prayer — a  prayer 
that  may  be  commended  to  many  men  and 
some  women  who  are  much  older  than  the 
stumbling  boy — and  the  prayer  is  :  "Lord,  be 
merciful  to  me,  a  fool." 

"No  pity,  Lord,  could  change  the  heart 
From  red  with  wrong  to  white  as  wool ; 

The  rod  must  heal  the  sin :  but  Lord, 
Be  merciful  to  me,  a  fool. 

"  'Tis  not  by  guilt  the  onward  sweep 
Of  truth  and  right,  O  Lord,  we  stay : 

'Tis  by  our  follies  that  so  long 

We  hold  the  earth  from  heaven  away. 

"These  clumsy  feet,  still  in  the  mire, 
Go  crushing  blossoms  without  end ; 

These  hard,  well-meaning  hands  we  thrust 
Among  the  heart-strings  of  a  friend. 

106 


MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER? 

"The  ill-timed  truth  we  might  have  kept — 
Who  knows   how    sharp    it   pierced    and 
stung? 

The  word  we  had  not  sense  to  say — 
Who  knows  how  grandly  it  had  rung? 

"Our  faults  no  tenderness  should  ask, 

The  chastening  stripes  must  cleanse  them 
all; 

But  for  our  blunders — oh,  in  shame 
Before  the  eyes  of  heaven  we  fall. 

"Earth  bears  no  balsam  for  mistakes; 

Men  crown  the  knave,  and  scourge  the  tool 
That  did  his  will ;  but  Thou,  O  Lord, 

Be  merciful  to  me,  a  fool!" 


107 


The  Ultimate  Goal 


The  Ultimate  Goal* 


I  shall  spare  you  any  stale  compliments 
for  your  bright  eyes  and  beautiful  faces. 
Perhaps  the  students  assembled  here  to  be 
gin  a  year's  work  in  higher  education,  are 
no  better  looking,  have  no  brighter  eyes  or 
faces  than  the  average  of  those  who  are  ca 
pable  of  being  a  part  of  such  an  assemblage 
in  almost  any  other  part  of  the  country. 

The  business  ahead  of  you  is  so  serious 
that  you  are  entitled  in  this  hour  to  some 
thing  more  than  agreeable  platitudes  and 
flowers.  There  are  some  lessons  of  worth, 
outside  the  curriculum,  that  can  help  some 
what  to  insure  that  you  shall  reach  the  goal 
of  commencement  time,  when  diplomas  and 
bouquets  and  banners  will  be  in  order. 

If  one  of  the  most  advanced  of  your  num 
ber  should  take  this  platform  and  say  what 
in  his  judgment  are  the  most  important  les 
sons,  they  would  probably  be  somewhat  dif- 


*  An  address  delivered  at  the  opening  of  the  college  year  at 
the  University  of  Southern  California  in  1913. 

Ill 


THE  ULTIMATE  GOAL 

ferent  from  those  of  one  who  has  seen  many 
such  annual  assemblages,  and  followed  mul 
titudes  of  the  students  through  their  school, 
and  after-school,  lives. 

It  is  those  with  long  experience  and  ample 
perspective  who  have  best  learned  the 
wholesome  truths — that  about  the  most 
beautiful  thing  on  earth  is  a  little  child ;  that 
the  most  inspiring  sight  in  any  city,  to  the 
lovers  of  mankind,  is  the  children  going  to 
school  in  the  morning;  and  that  altogether 
the  most  wonderful  thing  is  a  lot  of  young 
people  in  one  of  our  higher  institutions  of 
learning. 

Of  a  hundred  of  your  own  number,  how 
many  will  fail  and  drop  by  the  wayside  be 
fore  graduation  time?  How  many  will  die 
of  accident  or  sickness  in  the  midst  of  their 
school  life?  How  many  will  finally  succeed 
fairly  well,  how  many  very  well,  how  few 
reach  the  top,  or  near  the  top  of  the  ladder 
of  success  that  every  one  of  you  hopes  for? 
Of  course  there  is  no  answer  to  such  ques 
tions  ;  but  they  suggest  the  vicissitudes,  the 
casualties,  the  successes  and  failures  of  a 
protracted  war.  The  urgent  problem  is  to 
lessen  the  casualties  and  increase  the  suc 
cesses. 

The  greatest  wish  for  good  that  any  friend 
can  have  for  you  is  the  best  success  that  you 
are  capable  of;  that  you  may  put  your  ca- 

112 


THE  ULTIMATE  GOAL 

pacities  to  the  best  use,  and  hedge  against 
griefs  and  disappointments;  that  you  may 
have  the  greatest  sum  total  of  happiness 
throughout  your  existence,  whether  here  or 
hereafter,  for  this  is  the  basis  of  all  sane  am 
bition  and  of  the  ethics  of  life — mark  you,  I 
say  the  greatest  sum  total  of  happiness,  not 
necessarily  the  greatest  for  any  hour  or  day 
to  be  followed  by  a  recoil  of  pain,  but  the 
greatest  aggregate. 

To  those  who  have  fared  far  toward  an 
intellectual  life  there  are  a  few  lessons  that 
promise  students  some  better  margin  of 
safety  from  trouble,  more  economical  use  of 
their  powers  and  opportunities,  some  guard 
against  pitfalls,  stumblings  and  handicaps 
for  life.  Let  me  mention  a  few  of  them. 

The  first  injunction  ought  to  be  to  avoid 
conceit.  Don't  imagine  that  you  know  all 
of  any  subject.  There  are  but  few  foundation 
principles  that  may  not  be  changed  any  day 
by  some  new  discovery.  A  few  truths  of 
mathematics  and  some  axioms  of  human 
conduct  and  rules  of  social  life  stand  through 
all  the  centuries,  but  this  is  an  age  of  scien 
tific  methods  and  development;  and  theories 
are  prone  to  change.  So  we  should  restrain 
our  egotism,  and  cultivate  humility  in  the 
presence  of  any  new  knowledge  so  long  as 
it  is  real. 

You  will  find  that  even  the  members  of 

113 


THE  ULTIMATE  GOAL 

the  faculty  do  not  all  agree  on  every  subject ; 
or  perhaps  wholly  agree  on  any  subject. 
This  means  that  there  are  many  sides  to 
most  questions,  and  that  human  judgments 
and  viewpoints  vary  as  men  differ.  If  the  fac 
ulty  cannot  always  agree  it  hardly  seems 
profitable  for  freshmen  to  take  on  airs  of  as 
surance,  or  for  sophomores  to  look  bored. 

Try  to  be  teachable,  and  learn  how  to  be ; 
practice  introspection  for  improvement ;  and 
when  some  fellow  student  or  teacher  says 
you  are  in  error,  stop  and  think  whether  this 
is  true,  and  don't  be  rebellious  just  because 
it  is  you  who  happen  to  be  criticised ;  you 
are  probably  not  made  of  much  better  clay 
than  your  fellows.  The  average  student 
repeats  the  same  blunders  in  writing,  speak 
ing  or  calculating,  after  he  has  been  told  of 
them.  This  is  because  the  error  has  not 
come  to  him  as  a  shock,  as  a  sin,  or  a  humil 
iation,  and  nothing  short  of  this  is  usually 
effective.  We  usually  act  according  to  our 
fixed  habits  unless  and  until  jarred  out  of 
them  by  some  such  influence.  Education 
means  the  creation  of  new  and  better  habits, 
otherwise  cerebral  automatisms,  and  the  de 
struction  of  those  that  are  wrong  or  useless. 
This  is  all  there  is  of  education.  It  is  a  hard 
process. 

Let  one  of  your  teachers  give  you  a  mid 
term  written  examination;  let  him  blue-pen- 

114 


THE  ULTIMATE  GOAL 

cil  every  error  he  can  discover  in  statement, 
spelling,  punctuation,  and  grammar,  and 
hand  you  back  your  papers  with  the  request 
that  you  study  the  blue  marks.  Will  you 
avoid  in  your  final  examination  similar  er 
rors?  Perhaps  one  in  five  of  you  will.  The 
other  four  will  continue  to  perpetrate  the 
same  barbarisms,  all  because  they  have  not 
received  the  necessary  emotional  shock  to 
help  inhibit  a  wrong  habit,  and  allow  a  new 
and  better  one  to  start. 

There  was  a  man  of  forty  who  from  boy 
hood  had  constantly  kept  his  finger  nails 
gnawed  short.  In  childhood  he  had  bitter 
aloes  and  other  disagreeable  things  put  on 
his  fingers ;  his  hands  had  been  incased  in 
mittens,  and  he  had  been  punished  severely, 
and  in  spite  of  it  all  he  had  clung  to  his  vi 
cious  habit;  or  his  habit  had  clung  to  him. 
One  day  a  friend  seeking  the  services  of  a 
superior  lady  manicurist,  invited  him  to  go 
along.  After  she  had  finished  with  the 
friend,  the  latter  said,  "Now  please  fix  this 
fellow's  hands;  his  fingernails  are  disgrace 
ful,  but  maybe  you  can  improve  them  a  lit 
tle."  The  victim  blushingly  protested,  but 
finally  submitted  to  her  ministrations,  which 
seemed  to  make  a  great  impression  on  him. 
She  made  his  fingers  a  little  more  presenta 
ble  and  finally  said,  looking  out  of  two  beau 
tiful  eyes,  "Now,  sir,  don't  you  think  that 

115 


THE  ULTIMATE  GOAL 

looks  better  than  the  way  you  had  fixed 
them  ?"  The  shock  was  sufficient ;  the  fellow 
never  afterwards  gnawed  his  fingernails. 

Many  years  ago  in  the  Northwestern  Uni 
versity,  when  Bishop  Fowler  was  President, 
a  certain  theological  student  was  untidy  and 
unclean,  even  filthy  in  his  personal  habits. 
He  refused  or  failed  to  take  baths,  and  no 
importunity  nor  the  jibes  of  his  fellow  stu 
dents  had  any  effect  upon  him.  Repeated 
complaints  were  made  to  the  President  who 
finally  sent  for  the  man  to  come  to  his  resi 
dence  on  a  certain  evening.  He  came  and 
Doctor  Fowler  had  an  intimate  and  friendly 
conversation  with  him  about  his  studies,  his 
ambitions,  his  prospects  in  the  college  and 
in  life.  Then  he  invited  him  to  kneel  and 
join  in  prayer.  The  Doctor  prayed  earnestly 
that  this  student  might  succeed,  that  he 
might  be  a  credit  to  himself,  to  the  Univer 
sity,  and  to  the  community  in  which  he 
might  live ;  that  he  might  be  a  personal 
example  to  all  men  and  especially  to  all 
youths.  After  the  prayer  he  thanked  the 
student  for  his  call  and  their  nice  visit,  and 
handed  him  a  small  and  securely  done  up 
package,  saying:  "I  want  you  to  take  this 
package  home,  and  pray  for  divine  guidance 
before  you  open  it."  Then  he  bade  him  good 
night.  The  package  contained  a  cake  of 
soap.  The  shock  was  sufficient;  the  fellow 

116 


THE  ULTIMATE  GOAL 

became  from  that  day  an  exemplary  student. 

Once  in  Throop  College  of  Technology 
there  was  a  similar  case,  only  the  students 
handled  it,  not  the  President.  The  students 
administered  the  soap,  and  it  was  perma 
nently  effective. 

Avoid  drifting  into  unprofitable  lines  sim 
ply  because  others  drift.  Have  some  indi 
viduality;  don't  be  like  sheep  or  geese.  The 
force  that  often  leads  us  wrong  is  a  custom 
or  a  fashion  in  some  sort.  The  weaker 
among  us  almost  instinctively  follow  new 
fashions  whether  good  or  bad,  if  we  see  oth 
ers  doing  it ;  and  we  too  seldom  stop  to  ask 
if  the  new  fashion  is  worth  while. 

We  are  all  more  or  less  slaves  to  fashion 
in  many  things  beside  clothes.  How  fash 
ions  come  about  we  rarely  know  very  much, 
although  in  the  back  of  our  brains  there  is  a 
vague  guess  that  they  must  be  ordered  by 
some  superior  power  of  good  taste,  residing 
somewhere,  but  never  here.  If  we  thought 
them  any  less  sacred  we  would  certainly  re 
spect  some  of  them  the  less.  Today  in 
numerous  wholesale  millinery  establish 
ments,  shrewd  men  and  women  are  putting 
their  heads  together  to  make  the  fashions  in 
ladies'  hats  for  next  season.  Not  what  they 
ought  to  be,  but  what  they  shall  be  for  the 
purpose  of  making  money  for  the  house  by 
selling  them  —  the  whole  thing  is  vulgarly 

117 


THE  ULTIMATE  GOAL 

mercenary.  No  university  faculty  is  more 
shrewd  than  these  people  are  in  their  study 
of  what  women  bought  and  wore  last  year 
and  the  year  before,  and  what  they  may 
probably  be  induced  to  buy  next  year. 
Having  agreed  on  the  styles  that  are  likely 
to  win,  these  are  pictured,  advertised,  de 
scribed  and  sent  broadcast  over  the  country 
as  the  fashions  that  will  prevail.  Nothing 
matches  the  keenness  with  which  this  trap 
is  set  for  us,  except  the  ease,  even  the  haste, 
with  which  we  walk  into  it. 

There  was  once  in  Chicago  a  good  man  by 
the  name  of  Mason  who  was  in  the  life-in 
surance  business.  He  arrived  one  day  in 
Galesburg  on  a  morning  train  to  remain  dur 
ing  the  day  and  to  interview  numerous  peo 
ple.  When  he  arrived  he  found  that  his 
trousers  were  torn,  and  he  went  to  a  cloth 
ing  merchant  to  borrow  a  pair  until  his  own 
could  be  mended ;  he  would  call  in  the  even 
ing  to  change  back  again.  He  was  not  par 
ticular  about  the  pattern  to  be  loaned  him 
for  the  day.  "Then,"  said  the  merchant,  "I 
will  give  you  one  from  this  pile,  for  I  have 
not  sold  a  single  pair  out  of  the  lot."  It  was 
a  pile  of  loud  plaids,  that  no  man  in  unin 
fluenced  sanity  would  ever  willingly  buy  or 
wear.  Mason  was  about  town  all  day;  he 
was  a  striking  personality,  and  he  wore 
striking  nether  clothes  the  like  of  which 
118 


THE  ULTIMATE  GOAL 

nobody  in  Galesburg  had  seen  before ;  more 
over  he  was  very  soon  known  to  hail  from 
Chicago. 

When  he  went  to  get  his  own  clothes  in 
the  evening,  the  merchant  was  in  high  spir 
its.  He  had  sold  six  pairs  of  the  outlandish 
plaids  during  the  day.  So  at  least  six  men 
in  one  day  were  fooled  into  buying  and 
wearing  a  garment  which  they  hated,  sim 
ply  because  they  guessed  that  it  must  be  the 
fashion  in  Chicago.  All  the  simpletons  do 
not  reside  in  Galesburg,  or  Illinois.  The 
race  of  them  is  enormous, — and  some  of  us 
belong  to  it. 

We  tend  to  follow  the  fashion  closely,  and 
fall  into  the  general  stream ;  or,  we  avoid 
this  because  it  may  seem  to  be  absurd,  and 
follow  it  from  afar  or  not  at  all;  or,  if  we 
have  a  peculiar  brand  of  conceit  we  may 
defy  the  fashion  and  do  any  one  of  many 
erratic  things  to  fix  the  attention  of  others 
upon  us — and  the  more  the  attention  the 
more  we  are  flattered  even  if  the  attention 
be  solely  ridicule.  I  once  had  a  classmate 
who  had  a  very  abundant  beard  which  he 
allowed  to  grow  to  a  mass  two  feet  long  and 
a  foot  wide  and  to  cover  his  mouth  so  that 
nobody  ever  saw  it  for  twenty  years.  He 
felt  flattered  when  people  referred  to  it — 
even  if  they  told  him  he  was  an  idiot. 

To  the  common  mind — the  very  common 

119 


THE  ULTIMATE  GOAL 

mind — whatever  the  majority  are  doing  or 
are  presumptively  about  to  do,  must  be  cor 
rect,  and  ought  to  be  followed  with  all  haste. 
In  Sierra  Madre  some  few  years  ago  were 
two  little  boys  playing  together.  They  wore 
short  trousers  and  short  socks,  exposing 
their  knees  and  legs.  Another  little  boy  was 
brought  from  the  East  in  long  stockings  and 
knickerbockers  to  play  with  them.  Within 
two  days  he  was  begging  for  short  trousers 
and  short  socks,  so  as  to  be  like  the  other 
boys.  Had  there  been  two  boys  from  the 
East  and  only  one  in  Sierra  Madre,  the  lat 
ter  would  probably  have  asked  for  the  knick 
erbockers.  Are  University  students  above  or 
superior  to  the  very  common  mind? 

Students  in  all  schools  will  follow  many 
fashions  in  ways  and  notions  as  well  as 
clothes ;  this  is  unavoidable,  and  with  com 
mon  sense  in  the  saddle,  it  is  not  undesirable. 
Some  of  your  elders  remember  the  days  of 
tight  shoes,  the  shame  of  big  hands  and 
feet,  of  abundant  hair  made  sleek  with  hair- 
oil,  and  of  very  trim  clothes  and  delicate 
manners.  Now,  thanks  to  more  athletics 
and  more  sense,  we  have  come  to  glorify  big 
feet,  hands  and  muscles,  rough  clothes  and 
tousled  hair.  And  the  promise  of  power  and 
efficiency  has  glorified  awkwardness.  The 
thing  to  remember  is  that  the  line  of  con 
duct  we  adopt  at  school,  in  our  dealings 

120 


THE  ULTIMATE  GOAL 

with  customs  and  fashions,  will,  as  sure  as 
fate,  color  our  conduct  and  character  for 
life.  The  logical  thing  is  to  cultivate  some 
individuality,  and  refuse  to  be  slavish  in 
these  matters ;  if  we  start  on  this  basis  we 
are  sure  of  a  better  career.  One  of  the  most 
foolish  of  all  slaveries  in  school  or  out  of  it, 
is  the  sporadic  fad  that  it  is  weak  or  cow 
ardly  to  "take  a  dare."  Less  worthy  students 
repeatedly  lead  the  more  worthy  to  make 
themselves  ridiculous,  if  not  to  imperil  their 
lives,  because  of  this  shallow  obsession.  It 
is  as  bad  as  the  fetish  of  duelling  among 
gentlemen  of  the  South  during  the  last 
century, — a  fetish  that  has  melted  away  be 
fore  the  more  wholesome  social  basis  of  this 
practical  time. 

Another  truth  we  much  need  to  learn  is 
that  there  are  at  least  two  kinds  of  human 
conscience;  that  of  the  class  and  that  of  the 
individual.  The  class  conscience  moves  us 
to  follow  the  crowd,  to  go  writh  the  current, 
to  join  the  mob ;  the  individual  conscience  is 
the  product  of  our  personal  judgment  and 
individual  inclinations,  undisturbed  by  ei 
ther  the  huzzas  or  the  imprecations  of  the 
multitude.  Classes  as  a  whole  have  certain 
rules  and  doctrines  that  as  individuals  we 
have  difficulty  in  subscribing  to,  but  that  we 
follow  because  we  belong  to  the  class. 

A  few  years  ago  there  was  a  near  riot  at 

121 


THE  ULTIMATE  GOAL 

Stanford  University  in  which  a  lot  of  good 
men  fell  into  frenzy  and  did  some  wild 
things  because  the  authorities  took  meas 
ures  to  prevent  drinking  on  the  part  of  stu 
dents,  whether  on  the  campus  or  outside  of 
it.  They  were  furious  in  their  opposition  to 
interference  and  they  lampooned  their  slug 
gish  fellows  in  an  effort  to  rally  them  to  the 
defense  of  the  student  body,  and  to  stand  by 
their  first  declaration  that  they  would  fight 
to  the  end.  Left  to  themselves  individually, 
not  one  in  ten  would  have  taken  an  attitude 
of  such  unpopularity,  which  seemed  to  the 
public  to  favor  liquor-drinking  in  a  univer 
sity. 

Recently  a  great  discussion  has  been  go 
ing  on  in  educational  and  popular  journals 
on  a  subject  entitled  "Who  Broke  the  Win 
dow?"  A  teacher  put  this  conundrum  to  the 
public :  There  were  two  boys  in  school,  one 
was  called  Good  and  the  other  Bad.  Good 
saw  Bad  break  a  window  of  the  schoolhouse 
with  a  rock,  and  Bad  knew  that  Good  had 
seen  him  throw  the  rock.  The  teacher  asked 
Good  if  he  knew  who  broke  the  window. 
Good  answered  that  he  did.  The  teacher 
asked  him  who  it  was.  Good  declined  to 
tell.  Did  Good  do  right? 

Probably  a  hundred  letters,  possibly  twice 
as  many,  have  been  written  to  various  maga 
zines  and  journals  telling  why  the  writers 

122 


THE  ULTIMATE  GOAL 

thought  Good  did  right  or  wrong  in  refus 
ing  to  divulge  the  name  of  the  offender. 
A  very  few  said  Good  did  wrong;  that  he 
ought  to  have  told,  whatever  the  conse 
quences.  The  vast  majority  of  the  answers 
took  the  opposite  ground,  but  many  of  them 
showed  a  lack  of  appreciation  of  the  true 
moral  situation  in  the  case.  The  majority 
have  conceived  that  in  the  ethics  of  youth 
Good  could  not  tell  on  Bad  (which  is  prob 
ably  correct),  and  they  have  tried  to  see  in 
it  some  universal  principle  of  ethics,  but  it 
is  not  there.  The  principle  is  founded  in 
fear  of  the  class  conscience,  and  the  class 
punishment  that  is  the  sentence  of  the  boy 
who  tells.  There  can  be  no  principle  of  es 
sential  world  ethics  that  would  justify  Good 
in  conniving  at,  and  being  an  accessory  to 
such  a  piece  of  destructive  wickedness  on 
the  part  of  another.  He  was  afraid  to  an 
swer,  but  he  would  not  have  refused  to  an 
swer  if  he  had  seen  Bad  kill  his  own  sister 
instead  of  throwing  a  rock  at  the  window. 
He  would  have  been  prompt  to  give  infor 
mation  of  such  a  crime,  for  he  would  have 
been  guilty  of  felony  if  he  had  failed  to  do 
so;  then  he  would  have  had  the  fear  of  the 
law,  and  his  class  conscience  would  have  ad 
mitted  his  justification,  as  it  would  perhaps 
never  justify  him  in  the  case  of  destruction 
of  a  window. 

123 


THE  ULTIMATE  GOAL 

As  between  the  murder  and  the  peccadillo 
there  is  no  difference,  save  in  degree,  and 
between  these  two  extremes  of  offense  there 
are  all  shades  of  gradation.  In  the  twilight 
zone  between  them,  who  shall  draw  the  line 
and  say  just  where  the  peccadillos  end,  and 
the  crimes  begin,  and  therefore  where  Good 
might  tell,  and  where  he  must  refuse  to  tell  ? 

It  is  a  futile  contention  to  say  that  Good 
should  have  told  the  truth  and  convicted 
Bad,  for  such  a  contention  gets  us  nowhere 
— the  boys  will  not  follow  such  a  rule.  But 
there  is  no  occasion  to  dignify  as  a  principle 
of  high  ethics  a  rule  founded  in  fear  of  one's 
class — really  an  unwritten  compact  that 
gives  protection  to  any  one  who  cares  to 
throw  a  rock  in  the  sight  of  his  fellows,  but 
not  at  them. 

Nor  do  I  intend  to  sermonize  on  the  value 
of  more  individual  and  less  class  conscience. 
We  must  follow  both  varyingly  at  different 
times.  Most  certainly  we  cannot  dispense 
with  the  class  conscience,  for  of  it  are  pa 
triotism,  saving  family  pride,  and  self-re 
spect.  To  know  and  to  differentiate  the  two 
kinds  of  conscience  is  to  have  some  intelli 
gent  power  to  regulate  them ;  and  that  is 
about  all  we  need. 

It  is  a  great  achievement  to  be  imperturb 
able.  The  basis  of  perturbability  in  school 
is  a  sort  of  diffidence  in  the  presence  of 

124 


THE  ULTIMATE  GOAL 

others,  and  this  diffidence  is  egoistic,  and  is 
akin  to  cowardice.  When  we  are  called  on 
to  recite  we  blush,  hesitate,  perhaps  stam 
mer,  we  are  humiliated  by  our  hot  ears  and 
cheeks,  are  afraid  we  shall  say  something  to 
be  laughed  at,  and  so  fail  to  do  ourselves 
justice — we  cannot  do  our  best.  The  remedy 
is  first  a  sense  of  humor,  then  courage  to 
stand  on  our  own  moral  feet,  and  sink  our 
petty  thoughts  about  ourselves — as  of  what 
we  are  doing  or  shall  do  with  our  hands  and 
feet,  and  whether  or  not  our  hats  or  our 
neckties  are  on  straight.  We  should  be 
amused  at  being  laughed  at,  and  be  proof 
against  annoyance  at  any  jokes  upon  our 
selves.  We  always  play  jokes  on  people 
who  are  annoyed  at  them — never  or  very 
rarely  on  those  who  join  in  the  amusement 
from  them,  and  tell  about  them  afterward. 
Worry  about  our  studies  is  a  destructive 
emotion.  Most  good  thinking  is  done  rest- 
fully  and  deliberately.  Many  of  us  keep  in 
a  fume  throughout  the  college  course,  and 
fearing  humiliations  ahead  of  us  we  tensely 
cram  for  recitations  and  for  examinations — 
waste  energy  shamefully,  working  into  the 
nodding  hours  of  the  night — and  then  come 
to  the  issue  with  confusion  of  mind,  with  our 
fright  still  upon  us,  and  in  poor  condition 
for  creditable  work.  The  late  Prof.  L.  in 
his  final  college  examinations  surprised  his 

125 


THE  ULTIMATE  GOAL 

fellows  by  passing  with  very  high  marks. 
As  he  had  not  been  seen  for  several  days 
they  supposed  he  had  hidden  himself  some 
where  for  the  purpose  of  cramming.  But  he 
was  taking  long  tranquil  walks  over  the  New 
England  hills,  trying,  without  a  note  or 
book,  to  recall  to  mind  the  whole  course  of 
study  that  the  examinations  could  possibly 
cover.  So  he  came  up  to  the  ordeal  with  a 
tranquil  mind  and  a  consciousness  of  power. 

The  greatest  need  of  us  all  is  to  avoid 
physical  injuries  and  misfortunes  that  may 
handicap  us  for  life — and  handicaps  come 
easily.  We  are  physical  machines — just  ani 
mals,  theoretically  superior  animals,  and  it 
behooves  us  to  take  care  of  our  bodies  with 
at  least  as  much  care  as  we  would  bestow 
upon  our  dogs  and  cattle. 

Every  fellow  wishes  and  ought  to  deserve 
to  succeed,  and  make  a  good  race  in  school 
or  college  and  after  it,  for  a  career  in  life 
that  shall  be  to  his  liking.  But  a  broken 
ankle,  a  damaged  eye,  a  cracked  skull,  a 
pleurisy  or  a  spot  of  tuberculosis  in  a  lung, 
will  instantly  cut  the  percentage  of  certainty 
of  success  from  seventy-five  down  to  forty 
or  fifty.  It  is  a  sin  for  any  man  to  destroy 
so  large  a  margin  of  his  own  prospects  by 
an  accident  or  disease  that  is  preventable. 

126 


THE  ULTIMATE  GOAL 

Athletics  are  commendable,  but  should  be 
further  protected  against  casualties.  Some 
of  the  best  physical  caretaking  is  in  the  ex 
perience  of  the  athletic  team.  Why  don't 
all  the  students  live  by  such  a  regimen  as 
that  of  the  athletic  team?  Because  we  are 
unable  or  unwilling  to  forego  the  pleasures 
of  the  hour  for  future  benefit  and  a  greater 
aggregate  of  happiness  and  glory.  And  the 
philosophers  everywhere  and  through  all  the 
ages  have  preached  against  this  waste,  and 
with  not  enough  success  to  boast  of. 

Here  are  a  few  final  facts  bearing  on  this 
subject:  Tuberculosis  destroys  from  ten  to 
twelve  per  cent  of  us  all.  When  it  occurs 
in  a  lung  it  is  over  twice  as  fatal  in  habitual 
tobacco  users  as  in  non-users.  Outdoor 
sleeping  or  fresh-air  sleeping-rooms,  and 
long  hours  in  bed,  lessen  by  a  large  percent 
age  the  chances  of  acquiring  tuberculosis 
and  some  other  infectious  diseases. 

If  the  students  will  so  clothe  themselves 
that  they  can  bear  a  great  amount  of  fresh 
air,  cold  or  warm,  in  their  school  rooms,  and 
then  insist  on  having  it  at  all  times,  they 
will  probably  gain,  as  shown  by  recent  ex 
periments  with  open-air  schools,  about  five 
per  cent  in  their  progress,  and  even  more  in 
their  escape  from  disease  and  breakdowns  in 
the  midst  of  the  course.  Remember  that 
there  should  be  admitted  into  the  school 

127 


THE  ULTIMATE  GOAL 

room  many  hundred  cubic  feet  of  fresh  air 
per  hour  for  each  person;  and  that  the  best 
study  work  is  done  out  of  doors  even  by 
weakly  people  who  invariably  gain  in  vigor 
in  the  outdoor  schools. 

Alcoholic  stimulants  cut  down  the  effi 
ciency  of  all  brain  workers,  as  recently 
shown  by  the  most  searching  scientific  in 
vestigations.  Numerous  German  professors 
have  cut  out  completely  their  lifelong  habits 
of  beer  and  wine,  not  because  they  think  it 
wicked  to  take  them,  but  for  better  health, 
more  power,  longer  life. 

To  the  American  college  student  the  tak 
ing  of  alcoholic  beverages  to  produce  ap 
preciable  cerebral  effect  is  fraught  with  dan 
ger  of  nameless  calamities  that  may  in  a  day 
blight  a  life  career.  In  this  way  have  been 
permanently  handicapped  or  destroyed  many 
hundreds  of  the  best  youth  of  the  land. 
Verily,  the  smokeless  powder  and  the  noise 
less  bullet  are  the  most  dangerous  of  all. 
Verbum  sat  sapienti. 


128 


Edward  Waller  Claypole, 
the  Man 


Edward  Waller  Claypole, 
the  Man* 


There  is  no  other  lesson  in  all  the  universe 
which  transcends  that  of  a  human  life.  This 
is  a  primal  truth  notwithstanding  the  fact 
that  the  history  of  no  human  life  is  ever 
completely  told.  Whether  we  know  the 
whole  or  part  matters  little,  so  long  as  we 
see  the  lesson. 

The  careers  of  men  are  largely  determined 
by  accident,  and  the  fate  of  environment. 
Opportunity  has  made  some  mediocre  men 
great  in  the  pageantry  of  the  world;  while 
some  of  the  greatest  of  all  time  have  led 
quiet  and  unblazoned  lives  for  want  of  some 
accident  to  let  them  win  a  battle  or  be 
one  out  of  a  score  of  students  to  find  the 
epoch  truth  they  all  were  groping  after  and 
knew  must  be  near.  Thus  many  of  the  esti 
mates  of  history  are  inadequate  or  wrong. 


*Address  at   memorial   exercises   Throop   College   of  Tech 
nology,  Pasadena,  Cal.,  Sept.  26,  1901. 

131 


EDWARD  WALLER  CLAYPOLE 

It  is  the  character  of  a  man  that  measures 
him  and  by  which  his  value  to  his  kind  is 
finally  told.  And  this  is  the  quality  that  is 
first  born  to  him,  and  then  must  grow  and 
ripen  and  be  hammered  by  the  work  and 
impediments  of  his  life.  It  is  these  that  fix 
every  man's  place  somewhere  in  the  equa 
tions  of  the  race. 

While  a  man  lives  his  character  and  career 
are  in  the  making.  The  final  estimate  can 
never  be  made  in  life,  for  until  its  end  the 
evidence  is  never  quite  all  in.  Death  alone 
permits  the  case  to  be  closed  and  submitted 
to  the  judgment  of  history.  History  is  said 
to  grow  calm  and  judicial  by  time;  it  also 
may  grow  hazy  and  unfair.  It  fixes  on  the 
more  tangible  facts  of  a  man's  career,  like 
his  battles,  his  campaigns  or  his  recorded 
acts,  and  deals  more  or  less  justly  with  them. 
But  it  often  misses  the  best  part  of  him, 
which  is  his  character  and  work  in  the  un- 
turbulent  calm  of  life,  as  these  affect  men 
and  women  about  him,  and  mould  and 
change  them,  and  even  create  their  careers 
in  life. 

Who  most  have  influenced  the  lives  of 
others?  What  lives  so  affected  have  most 
changed  the  careers  of  still  others?  The 
answers  to  these  questions  reveal  the  real 
place  of  a  man  in  society. 

Professor  Claypole's  life  comprised  a  vol- 

132 


THE  MAN 

ume  of  numerous  lessons  and  many  kinds 
of  instruction. 

Born  in  England  and  coming  down  from 
a  line  of  superior  people  and  scholars  on 
both  sides  of  his  family,  he  inherited  a  love 
of  learning  and  a  disposition  to  study 
and  work.  His  father  and  paternal  grand 
father  were  Baptist  clergymen  and  fine 
classical  scholars,  and  his  own  taste  was 
naturally  toward  the  classics  and  literature. 
But  in  his  childhood  some  cultivated  women, 
sisters  of  his  remarkable  mother,  took  him 
out  into  the  fields  and  showed  him  some  of 
the  beauties  and  possibilities  of  botany  and 
geology,  and  his  enthusiasm  was  instantly 
aroused.  Here  was  an  opportunity  to  study 
things,  not  merely  the  writings  about  things 
and  thoughts ;  and  the  taste  then  created 
continued  through  life;  it  determined  his 
career  and  made  of  him  a  great  teacher  and 
an  authority  in  science. 

He  was  a  voracious  reader  and  student,  a 
devourer  of  encyclopedias  and  all  manner  of 
the  strongest  books,  even  in  childhood. 
Taken  once  to  a  lecture  on  astronomy  at 
eleven  years  of  age  he  startled  his  family 
on  reaching  home  by  correcting  the  lecturer 
as  to  some  of  his  facts  and  figures,  and  did 
it  from  memory  of  what  he  had  read,  un 
known  to  his  elders. 

In  pursuit  of  his  education  he  met  with 

133 


EDWARD  WALLER  CLAYPOLE 

difficulties.  His  clerical  ancestors  were  dis 
senters  from  the  established  church.  For 
this  reason  none  of  the  teaching  universi 
ties  in  all  England  was  open  to  him,  and  lack 
of  means  made  it  impossible  for  him  to  go 
to  Scotland  where  he  would  have  been  ad 
mitted,  or  to  attend  any  of  the  fitting  schools 
in  England.  So  with  his  father's  aid  and 
his  own  efforts  he  fitted  himself  for  and  ac 
complished  matriculation  at  the  University 
of  London,  which  is  an  examining,  not  a 
teaching  body,  and  was  founded  specially 
for  dissenters.  But  now  because  he  had 
been  prepared  by  private  study  instead  of 
at  some  of  the  accredited  schools,  further 
advancement  was  impossible  and  he  had  to 
wait  for  some  years  until  in  1859  the  Uni 
versity  modified  its  rules,  and  admitted  stu 
dents  who  were  prepared  by  any  school  or 
by  any  means,  to  take  its  examination,  and 
gave  degrees  to  those  who  had  earned  them. 
Then  he  took  there  three  degrees  in  succes 
sion :  B.  A.  in  1862,  B.  Sc.  in  1864,  and 
D.  Sc.  1888. 

Teaching  was  his  profession  and  he  taught 
all  his  working  life  except  two  years  when 
he  was  on  the  geological  survey  of  Pennsyl 
vania.  For  nearly  a  third  of  a  century  he 
taught  in  collegiate  institutions.  He  taught 
many  things,  nearly  the  whole  curriculum  of 
an  ordinary  college  at  different  times,  and 

134 


THE  MAN 

everything  with  equal  facility,  but  his  spe 
cialty  was  the  natural  sciences  and  particu 
larly  geology.  His  first  ambition  was  to  be 
a  civil  engineer,  not  a  teacher.  He  might 
have  made  a  good  engineer,  but  it  is  certain 
that  he  was  a  teacher  born,  as  truly  as  men 
are  born  gentlemen  or  geniuses.  To  his  in 
born  powers  he  added  the  highest  develop 
ment  of  studied  excellence. 

The  refinement  of  his  art  in  this  sort  was 
founded  on  his  erudition,  which  was  enor 
mous  ;  on  his  enthusiasm  for  scientific  truth ; 
on  his  great  manual  dexterity ;  on  a  remark 
able  gift  of  extempore  drawing  that  made  it 
easy  and  interesting  for  him  to  illustrate  his 
work,  and  especially  on  the  grace  of  his  per 
sonality  and  the  terse  and  beautiful  way  in 
which  he  said  things  without  verbiage  or 
cant.  His  interest  in  the  studies  was  so 
genuine  that  it  was  infectious  to  his  stu 
dents.  Whether  in  pursuit  of  some  investiga 
tion,  or  over  a  problem,  or  doing  a  manipu 
lation,  his  patience  was  limitless.  This 
quality  was  impressive  to  his  students  as  it 
was  to  his  colleagues.  Then  in  all  his  earlier 
years  he  was  a  leader  among  the  boys  in 
out  of  door  sports,  a  thing  that  is  always  a 
bond  between  teacher  and  students.  But  he 
had  no  sympathy  with  organized  college 
sports,  and  always  doubted  their  ultimate 
value. 

135 


EDWARD  WALLER  CLAYPOLE 

Pupils  under  him  lost  respect  for  them 
selves  in  poor  work  and  bad  purposes;  and 
those  of  them  who  were  worth  saving  to 
an  intellectual  life  became  inspired  to  do 
the  best  that  was  in  them.  More  than  that, 
they  acquired  his  methods  of  thought  and 
reasoning;  his  mental  habits  became  theirs, 
and  they  have  gone  out  to  transmit  these 
traits  and  impulses  to  others  and  through 
these  still  to  others,  and  so  on  in  a  chain  of 
influence  that  always  exalts,  and  whereof  no 
man  knows  the  end. 

In  his  treatment  of  students  he  was  gen 
tleness  itself.  Only  poor  work  and  dishon 
esty  could  rouse  him  to  severity.  He  would 
go  to  any  length  to  help  a  sincere  student 
in  genuine  work ;  but  would  never  yield  an 
inch  in  his  standard  to  let  even  such  a  stu 
dent  through  his  finals.  He  expected  the 
best  of  every  student  and  usually  got  it. 
Years  ago  there  was  once  some  formal  criti 
cism  by  his  colleagues  of  his  methods  of 
teaching,  but  the  pupils  of  his  critics  were 
few  while  his  were  many.  The  trouble  was 
that  his  lucid,  realistic  and  practical  way  of 
presenting  his  subject  drew  pupils,  the  very 
thing  that  the  modern  university  bids  for. 

Of  a  race  of  dissenting  Baptists,  it  was 
natural  that  he  should  find  occupation  as  a 
teacher  in  a  Baptist  college.  It  was  a  college 

136 


THE  MAN 

for  the  education  of  ministers,  a  theological 
school  in  which  he  taught  for  several  years. 
Strange  that  the  theological  basis  there 
should  have  been  such  that  teaching  the 
simple  truths  of  the  classics  and  science  in 
a  broad  and  manly  way  would  unsettle 
young  men  for  the  business  of  the  minis 
try  !  Yet  it  did  this  and  of  course  the  teacher 
had  to  go.  And  when  he  wished  to  teach 
in  a  college  in  Wales  and  could  not  sub 
scribe  to  its  theology  he  was  not  accepted. 
At  this  time  there  was  not  a  college  in  Eng 
land  where  he  could  teach,  and  to  the  Pres 
byterian  colleges  of  Scotland  he  would  have 
been  equally  unacceptable. 

Then  like  the  pilgrims  of  more  than  two 
centuries  before,  and  for  similar  reasons,  he 
came  to  America  where  there  must,  he 
thought,  be  liberty  to  teach  the  truth  freely. 
But  here  he  met  with  some  disappointments 
of  the  sort  he  had  encountered  in  England. 
It  was  his  failing,  if  failing  it  is,  that  he  must 
teach  the  truth  as  he  saw  it.  His  loyalty 
to  the  truth — the  fact  proven — was  like  a 
religion  to  him.  Evolution  to  him  was  the 
way  in  which  the  purposes  of  Providence 
are  worked  out;  to  renounce  it  would  be 
blasphemy. 

His  sacrifices  for  his  loyalty  to  truth  had 
recompense  at  last;  for  he  lived  to  see  the 

137 


EDWARD  WALLER  CLAYPOLE 

doctrine  of  evolution  defended  by  theolo 
gians,  and  Darwin  acknowledged  to  have 
made  the  greatest  contribution  to  thought  of 
the  just  ended  century.  The  metamorphosis 
had  been  as  radical  as  that  from  the  witch 
craft  laws  of  Massachusetts  of  old,  to  those 
of  the  Commonwealth  of  today.  He  lived 
to  see  Oxford  and  Cambridge  accept  dis 
senting  students  without  signing  the  39  arti 
cles,  or  swearing  that  the  Queen  was  the 
head  of  the  church;  to  see  the  University 
of  London  open  its  doors  to  women  (his 
own  wife  received  high  honors  there)  and 
bestow  its  degrees  on  any  student  who 
could  pass  its  examinations.  He  had  de 
clined  to  come  up  for  his  doctor's  degree  as 
long  as  an  examination  for  which  one  could 
cram  was  required;  he  could  have  crammed 
for  it  easily,  but  he  believed  this  degree 
should  be  given  for  original  work  only ;  and 
finally,  long  after  he  had  come  to  America, 
the  University  came  to  his  way  of  thinking, 
and  then  he  crossed  the  ocean  and,  on  the 
strength  of  his  original  work  on  the  geology 
of  Pennsylvania  and  Ohio,  received  the  de 
gree  of  Doctor  of  Science. 

As  a  scholar  he  was  exact  and  accurate; 
he  hewed  to  the  line  as  though  by  instinct. 
He  did  not  try  to  remember  everything,  but 
he  tried  first  to  understand  everything  he 
read  or  considered,  and  then  as  a  matter  of 

138 


THE  MAN 

fact  he  did  remember  nearly  everything,  and 
he  could  usually  at  a  moment's  notice  lay 
his  hands  on  any  fact  or  reference  he  needed. 

As  a  scientist  speaking  to  the  world  he 
was  slow  and  painstaking  lest  he  might  send 
forth  an  immature  message.  It  was  modesty 
and  self-effacement  as  well  as  love  of  truth 
that  led  to  this,  qualities  the  lack  of  which  has 
tempted  men  to  rush  into  print  with  un- 
proven  facts  and  lame  theories.  He  had  a 
great  aversion  for  unpondered  declarations 
and  unverified  theories.  This  led  him  to  a 
degree  of  scrupulosity  that  probably  retarded 
his  publications  and  restricted  his  fame  ;  but  it 
could  not  lessen  his  worth.  Evanescent  fame 
and  especially  the  plaudits  of  the  unthinking 
had  the  least  possible  charm  for  him.  To 
strive  for  such  things  wittingly  would  have 
been  a  degradation  of  his  self-respect. 

In  spite  of  his  caution,  his  contributions 
to  knowledge  were  large.  They  did  not  take 
the  form  of  books,  but  were  mostly  articles 
contributed  to  numerous  scientific  journals, 
proceedings  of  learned  societies  and  official 
reports  published  by  government.  Their 
number  mounted  into  the  hundreds  and  cov 
ered  not  only  geology  in  which  he  was  most 
interested,  but  many  fields  of  science  be 
sides,  as  well  as  literature  and  general  learn 
ing.  What  a  labor  is  represented  in  all  this 
writing  and  revision !  What  erudition  and 

139 


EDWARD  WALLER  CLAYPOLE 

study  it  stands  for!  Yet  it  only  expressed 
the  work  of  his  mind  and  hand  as  it  came 
along  day  by  day.  For  him  to  attempt  to 
write  a  great  paper  merely  to  astonish  the 
world  was  unthinkable.  He  wrote  when,  in 
his  investigations  or  those  of  others,  a  word 
came  to  him  that  demanded  utterance.  And 
his  investigations  were  going  on  constantly. 
The  new  theories  and  principles  which  he 
promulgated  were  mostly  fated  to  stand. 
There  was  a  shower  of  opposition  and  argu 
ment  against  some  of  them,  but  the  final 
verdict  of  science  has  confirmed  him  in  al 
most  every  instance. 

He  began  in  youth  the  habit  of  writing 
for  serial  publications.  When  he  was  but  17 
he  joined  a  brother  in  editing  and  publish 
ing  a  student's  paper  called  "The  Home 
Journal/'  It  appeared  monthly,  and  the  edi 
tion  was  usually  limited  to  one  copy.  It 
was  not  printed,  but  written  by  his  own  pre 
cise  hand,  and  illuminated  by  drawings  as 
perfect  as  a  modern  lithograph.  These 
last  gave  promise  of  the  fine  drawings  that 
later  illustrated  his  scientific  papers.  It  was 
contributed  to  by  his  several  brothers  and 
himself,  and  it  contained  no  student  gossip, 
jokes  or  editorials  on  the  way  to  run  a 
college,  but  strong  articles  on  science  and 
literature,  as  e.g.,:  "The  Rise  and  Prog 
ress  of  Language,"  "The  Causes  that  Led 

140 


THE  MAN 

to  the  Restoration  of  Charles  II.,"  "The  At 
traction  of  Gravitation,"  and  "Conscience." 
The  articles  all  show  painstaking  care  and 
much  study. 

His  taste  for  serious  journalism  continued 
through  life  and  he  wrote  extensively  for 
scientific  periodicals,  especially  those  de 
voted  to  geology.  He  was  one  of  the  foun 
ders,  and  always  one  of  the  editors,  of  the 
"American  Geologist,"  begun  in  1888,  and 
wrote  for  it  a  large  number  of  articles,  re 
views  and  criticisms. 

It  was  his  fortune  to  have  made  in  1884 
in  Perry  county,  Pennsylvania,  the  discov 
ery  of  a  new  genus  (two  species)  of  fossil 
fish  in  the  Silurian  rocks  at  a  lower  level 
than  any  fish  remains  had  been  found  be 
fore.  These  were,  as  he  then  said,  the  "oldest 
indisputable  vertebrate  animals  which  the 
world  has  yet  seen."  He  \vorked  out  the 
specimens  and  the  subject  with  great  labor 
and  patience  and  named  the  species  Palaeas- 
pis  americana  and  P.  bitruncata.  Although 
his  position  about  this  discovery  was  con 
troverted  by  many  experts  at  the  time,  it 
has  never  been  shaken  in  the  least  from 
that  day  to  this. 

The  personal  demeanor  of  this  man  was 
so  superior  and  refined  as  to  be  a  model  for 
every  man  and  the  envy  of  many  of  them. 
He  was  always  gentle,  never  intense  save 

141 


EDWARD  WALLER  CLAYPOLE 

when  confronted  by  untruth  and  dishonor. 
He  was  not  combative  yet  keenly  enjoyed 
discussion ;  if  he  were  injured  or  felt  himself 
to  be,  he  was  silent.  He  would  discuss  but 
never  contend,  unless  it  was  for  some  vital 
principle  or  against  what  he  thought  an  in 
justice  ;  and  he  never  lost  his  temper  or  his 
patience.  Thereby  he  could  always  lift  a 
heated  debate  out  of  personalities  and  into 
dignified  discussion.  He  had  an  abiding 
love  of  justice  and  would  struggle  for  it,  but 
always  with  dignity.  When  a  decision  rested 
with  himself  his  judicial  sense  stood  so  erect 
that  it  would  sometimes  tip  backward.  This 
was  the  case  especially  when  he  had  or  could 
have  any  personal  interest  in  the  decision. 
If  his  own  children  were  in  his  classes  he 
held  them  to  a  severer  rule  than  the  rest  of 
the  students.  With  what  he  regarded  as 
public  or  private  wrong  he  could  never  com 
promise  in  the  smallest  degree.  Like  most 
of  the  great  reformers  he  never  learned  that 
much  of  the  best  progress  of  the  world 
comes  as  a  matter  of  compromise.  Because 
there  was  corruption  in  politics  he  could 
rarely  be  induced  to  go  to  the  polls  to  vote. 
He  enjoyed  exercise  and  work.  His  fire 
wood  he  bought  in  large  sticks  so  that  he 
could  have  the  exercise  of  sawing  and  split 
ting  it.  His  book-cases  were  mostly  made 
with  his  own  hands,  and  he  bound  credit- 

142 


THE  MAN 

ably  many  of  his  numerous  volumes  of 
periodicals.  Geologist  and  botanist  that  he 
was,  he  enjoyed  tramping  over  the  country 
and  his  students  frequently  went  with  him 
to  their  delight  and  benefit.  But  sometimes 
his  tramps  were  too  much  for  them,  and 
once  they  determined  that  they  would  tire 
him  out.  So  several  of  the  strongest  of  them 
planned  a  journey  with  him  for  this  purpose. 
They  had  saved  their  strength  beforehand 
and  thought  they  were  sure  of  victory,  but 
one  by  one  they  fell  out  of  the  squad,  and 
the  last  one  to  give  up  came  back  and  re 
ported  that  the  professor  had  disappeared 
over  the  hill  with  a  step  as  elastic  as  that  of 
a  boy. 

His  conversation  was  full  of  good  fellow 
ship,  never  rasping  or  aggressive.  He  had 
little  small  talk.  He  had  none  of  the  qual 
ity  of  the  Bohemian,  but  he  was  a  good  com 
panion,  best  always  for  the  thoughtful  and 
seekers  after  knowledge.  He  rarely  laughed 
loudly,  but  as  he  spoke  a  smile  often  played 
upon  his  countenance,  a  smile  whose  charm 
could  not  be  surpassed,  for  it  shone  with 
refinement  and  intelligence.  It  was  the  smile 
of  the  cultivated  Englishman ;  it  never  rose 
to  the  wide-open  laughter  of  those  who  are 
quick  to  grasp  American  jokes ;  and  he 
never  came  to  appreciate  these  as  the  natives 
do. 

143 


EDWARD  WALLER  CLAYPOLE 

His  nature  was  a  serious  one  always,  and 
he  probably  failed  of  some  solace  that  might 
have  come  to  him  had  he  been  able  to  ap 
preciate  fully  the  jests,  hyperbole,  irony  and 
satire  of  this  country.  But  he  also  lacked 
the  intensity  and  intemperance  in  thought, 
speech  and  action,  that  make  so  many  native 
Americans  need  these  aids  to  balance  their 
moods.  It  must  not  be  understood  that  he 
was  devoid  of  humor.  He  had  humor,  but 
it  was  rather  as  an  infrequent  and  subtle 
surprise  and  so  the  more  enjoyable  to  the 
few  to  whom  it  was  ever  revealed. 

If  he  needed  any  balancing  emotion  it  was 
for  a  certain  intensity  of  feeling  that  was 
known  only  to  his  very  intimates.  This  ap 
peared  at  times  in  a  degree  of  melancholy 
shown  in  deep  and  unspoken  grief  at  the 
premature  close  of  a  career,  or  of  a  life  at 
the  threshold  of  its  usefulness.  Calamities 
within  his  own  household  put  him  to  severe 
tests  of  this  kind.  As  the  deepest  waters 
run  still  so  his  intensest  feelings  were  com 
pletely  hidden  from  the  world  in  general. 

All  of  nature's  sounds  were  meaningful  to 
him.  The  birds  and  the  insects  made  music 
for  his  ears,  and  it  was  harmony.  But  of 
man's  artificial  harmonies  the  science  alone 
concerned  him.  He  knew  and  was  inter 
ested  in  the  sound  that  each  pipe  or  string 
of  an  instrument  made,  and  why  and  how; 

144 


THE  MAN 

and  why  the  tones  harmonized  with  each 
other  or  failed  to  do  so.  But  music  was  no 
pleasure  to  him.  Yet  his  own  voice  was 
melody.  No  one  who  knew  him  ever  heard 
a  man's  voice  that  was  more  musical,  and 
no  one  of  us  ever  heard  it  raised  in  anger  or 
discord.  The  knowledge  seekers  not  only 
found  his  voice  beautiful,  but  doubly  charm 
ing  because  always  laden  with  wisdom ;  and 
after  they  had  listened  for  an  hour  to  his 
conversation  on  various  subjects  in  a  flow  as 
easy  and  modest  as  ever  heard,  as  fresh  as 
a  zephyr  from  the  mountains,  and  in  lan 
guage  so  concise  and  pure  that  it  would  do 
to  print  exactly  as  uttered,  for  the  per 
fected  literature  of  our  speech,  they  went 
away  feeling  that  somehow  they  had  been 
with  a  sage  of  the  centuries.  They  actually 
experienced  one  of  the  psychological  mira 
cles  by  acquiring  as  their  own  some  of  his 
perspective  grasp.  He  had  calmed  their 
nervous  tension  and  made  them  look  for  and 
see  things  with  a  more  certain  and  con 
sciously  certain  vision.  The  effect  was  com 
parable  to  the  influence  of  General  Grant  on 
his  soldiers  before  one  of  the  battles  in  Vir 
ginia,  when  he  simply  rode  down  the  line  of 
the  army  and  observed  everything  in  his  in 
imitable,  quiet  way.  His  words  were  few 
and  chiefly  in  the  way  of  suggestion  and 
inquiry;  not  a  loud  word  or  one  for  mere 

145 


EDWARD  WALLER  CLAYPOLE 

effect,  but  every  man  who  saw  it,  from  being 
nervous  and  impetuous  suddenly  became  a 
real  soldier  and  examined  his  cartridges  and 
arms,  and  began  to  save  his  resources,  which 
before  he  had  wasted,  that  he  might  be  ready 
for  the  time  of  need. 

Prof.  Claypole's  tastes  as  the  world  uses 
the  word  were  severely  simple.  Show  and 
parade  appealed  to  him  but  little.  He  was 
himself  wholly  incapable  of  either.  His 
clothes  were  a  necessity  to  him ;  so  he  wore 
them.  He  never  had  any  pleasure  in  their 
display.  He  was  modest  and  retiring  in  all 
his  ways ;  and  never  pushed  himself  or  pre 
ferred  himself  before  others.  He  was  never 
a  stickler  for  his  personal  rights ;  therein  he 
belied  certain  definitions  of  Englishmen.  He 
would  take  an  inconvenient  lecture  hour 
without  a  complaint  rather  than  ask  a  col 
league  to  make  a  possibly  not  inconvenient 
change  to  accommodate  him. 

Taught  by  his  early  experiences  to  prac 
tice  the  most  rigid  economy,  he  continued 
this  through  life.  His  personal  wants  were 
few,  and  envy  and  jealousy  seem  to  have 
been  left  out  of  his  nature.  He  was  not 
unhappy  over  the  larger  expenditure  of  his 
neighbors,  except  because  of  its  sometime 
wastefulness  when  done  for  show.  Had  he 
been  more  aggressive  he  doubtless  might 
have  made  money  by  his  knowledge  of  geol- 

146 


THE  MAN 

ogy,  but  scientists  rarely  become  rich,  even 
when  they  give  themselves  to  the  work  of 
invention. 

He  was  an  ideal  expert  witness  in  court, 
for  he  was  so  fair  and  candid,  so  amazing 
in  his  information,  and  so  evidently  free  from 
any  impulse  to  air  his  knowledge,  that  judge 
aud  jury  always  believed  his  testimony. 

His  public  scientific  lectures  were  master 
pieces  in  substance  and  style.  The  test  of 
their  perfection  was  the  fact  that  those  who 
heard  them  usually  absorbed  their  substance 
and  remembered  them  as  a  precious  intel 
lectual  experience. 

He  was  apparently  emotion-blind  to  every 
sentiment  of  egotism  and  conceit.  He  did 
not  care  to  be  lionized  or  paraded ;  he  was 
too  great  to  need  such  attentions.  He  even 
shunned  having  his  photograph  taken,  and 
the  best  picture  of  him  had  to  be  secured  by 
a  ruse.  While  he  walked  daily  among  men 
no  one  of  whom  was  his  peer  in  mentality 
or  equipment,  he  never  betrayed  to  even  his 
friends  by  word  or  manner  that  he  was  con 
scious  of  his  superiority.  He  was  unselfish 
and  unworldly,  and  in  spirit  as  guileless  and 
exalted  as  the  man  of  Nazareth.  World 
famous  as  a  man  of  science,  the  recipient  of 
honors  from  the  most  famous  of  men,  from 
governments  and  educational  institutions 
throughout  the  world,  he  carried  them  all  so 

147 


EDWARD  WALLER  CLAYPOLE 

modestly  and  quietly  that  his  neighbors 
hardly  knew  of  them. 

The  purity  of  his  personal  and  domestic 
life,  his  devotion  to  his  own,  and  especially 
to  his  invalid  wife,  made  an  example  for 
men  and  angels,  for  there  has  been  nothing 
finer  this  side  of  the  stars.  The  great  truth 
became  incarnate  in  him  early  that  only  in  a 
life  of  unselfish  service  for  others  is  there 
perfect  peace.  That  life  he  lived  ideally  to 
the  end,  and  it  found  him  the  joy  that  be 
longs  to  the  saints.  For  him  there  was  no 
far  pilgrimage  in  search  of  the  Holy  Grail, 
either  for  body  or  soul.  He  knew  it  was 
within  his  reach  every  hour,  and  he  daily 
laid  his  hand  upon  it,  was  glad  and  unafraid. 
No  specific  act  or  uttered  formula  for  the 
safety  of  his  soul  everlastingly  was  possible 
for  him.  The  whiteness  of  his  living  soul 
and  the  reverent  rectitude  of  his  daily  life 
were  the  only  talisman  he  needed  or  would 
have. 

To  have  come  close  to  his  great  nature 
was  a  mental  and  moral  inspiration,  and  to 
have  known  him  thus  was  to  love  him  al 
ways.  To  have  absorbed  some  of  his 
thought,  and  to  have  caught  even  a  little  of 
his  spirit  and  mental  methods,  was  a  growth 
in  intellectual  stature.  It  was  a  high  privi 
lege  that  this  institution,  its  faculty  and 
students  as  well  as  the  community  at  large, 

148 


THE  MAN 

had  his  services  and  great  personality  for 
the  final  three  years  of  his  life,  and  in  the 
zenith  of  his  mental  ripeness  and  power. 
His  presence  and  labors  have  dedicated 
anew  this  spot  to  scholarship,  and  to  that 
useful  education  in  things  and  thoughts 
which  his  own  life  so  well  symbolized. 

As  if  to  bless  his  final  pilgrimage  the 
three  years  he  spent  here  were  among  the 
happiest  and  most  peaceful  of  his  life.  Here 
he  was  reminded  of  his  young  life  in  Eng 
land  when  he  first  had  a  home  of  his  own. 
Here  he  found  congenial  companions  and 
people  who,  he  said,  had  time  to  stop  an3 
think.  His  life  here  was  free  from  turmoil 
and  he  could  do  his  best  thinking.  He  found 
joy  in  the  scenery,  the  mountains,  the  flow 
ers  and  the  foliage — especially  of  the  pepper 
boughs ;  and  the  unstudied  fields  of  geology 
of  the  region  offered  him  a  hundred  enticing 
problems. 

He  had  another  experience  here  that  gave 
him  tranquil  comfort,  one  that  in  this  pres 
ence  I  hesitate  to  mention,  but  dare  not 
omit.  It  was  his  three  years  of  association 
with  a  faculty  that,  he  many  times  privately 
said,  averaged  superior  to  any  other  he  had 
known,  in  the  completeness  of  its  harmony, 
magnanimity,  and  loyalty  to  high  aims. 

This  utterance,  that  may  be  considered  as 
having  come  to  us  here  as  a  final  benedic- 

149 


EDWARD  WALLER  CLAYPOLE 

tion  from  his  vanishing  hand,  wafts  back 
also  his  hope  and  prayer  that  such  harmony 
and  loyalty  and  magnanimity  may  possess 
all  faculties  of  instruction  everywhere,  and 
always. 


150 


Address  in  Accepting  a  Bronze 
Bust  of  Prof.  Claypole 


Address  in  Accepting  a  Bronze 
Bust  of  Prof.  Claypole 


The  Throop  College  of  Technology  accepts 
the  custody  of  this  bronze  and  will  preserve 
and  guard  it  perpetually  as  a  service  to  hu 
man  life  and  character,  to  the  interests  of 
education,  and  to  the  honor  of  this  com 
munity.  As  we  are  mindful  of  the  mean 
ing  and  gift  of  this  work  of  art,  it  will  be 
a  constant  monitor  to  us  and  to  the  friends 
of  truth  and  learning  who  come  after  us, 
and  especially  to  students  and  learners  in 
this  part  of  the  world. 

We  well  know  that  it  is  only  a  few  men 
out  of  a  million  whose  lives  and  qualities 
justify  their  commemoration  in  this  man 
ner.  We  reproduce  their  form  and  features 
on  canvas,  in  plaster  or  marble,  or  in  more 
enduring  bronze,  as  a  testimonial  of  our  ad 
miration  of  them,  and  to  the  end  that  man 
kind  may  be  impressed  with  that  vital  mean 
ing  of  their  lives  which  we  believe  worthy 

153 


ADDRESS  IN  ACCEPTING  BRONZE 

of  perpetuation,  and  able  to  inspire  and  en 
courage  the  endless  procession  of  the  race. 

Fortunately  this  image  of  our  dead  friend 
is  of  bronze  and  likely  to  endure  after  we 
and  a  hundred  generations  of  our  successors 
shall  be  forgotten,  and  after  these  walls  shall 
have  returned  to  debris  and  dust.  Men  are 
evanescent,  most  of  the  material  things 
we  prize  hurry  into  the  mould  of  the  ages 
and  become  indistinguishable ;  houses  wear 
out  or  burn,  and  walls — even  of  granite — 
crumble  and  go  down.  But  the  bronze  fig 
ure  of  a  man  endures,  is  preserved  through 
the  centuries,  or  may  be  dug  out  of  the  rub 
bish  of  time  or  of  some  world's  cataclysm, 
to  imbue  mankind  afresh  with  courage  and 
faith,  and  for  historians  to  rewrite  the  story 
of  a  human  life  that  may  hold  a  lesson  as 
enduring  as  the  hills. 

Some  of  those  whom  we  single  out  for  the 
distinction  of  being  thus  preserved,  are  sol 
diers  and  sailors  who  have  fought  for  the 
state  or  for  some  principle  or  doctrine. 
Some  are  statesmen  who  by  their  powers 
and  prophecy  have  made  the  state  their 
debtor.  Some  have  shown  that  unselfish 
lives  and  kindness  to  others  and  gentleness 
of  spirit  are  most  worth  emulating.  Some 
are  scholars  and  inventors  who  have  opened 
new  paths  and  given  new  light  to  the  world, 
and  so  made  life  easier  and  happier. 

154 


BUST  OF  PROF.  CLAYPOLE 

Professor  Claypole  had  several  qualities 
that  can  never  be  emphasized  too  much.  He 
was  a  gentle  soul,  diffident  and  retiring,  full 
of  the  sweet  spirit  and  charming  courtesy  of 
the  best  of  his  time.  His  intellectual  re 
sources  were  so  enormous  that  he  was  the 
envy  of  every  learner;  and  he  disarmed  all 
jealousy  of  his  endowments  by  his  constant 
efforts  to  bestow  these  gifts  upon  others — 
on  whomsoever  would  come  and  take  them. 
They  were  his  riches  indeed,  and  he  tried  all 
his  life  to  give  them  away.  Like  grace  and 
goodness,  the  more  he  gave  away  the  more 
he  had,  and  while  he  made  others  rich,  he 
was  nothing  poorer.  His  loyalty  to  the 
truths  of  nature  and  the  leadings  of  science 
made  him  a  model  for  all  men.  His  heroism 
under  persecution  for  loyalty  was  more 
commendable  than  even  courage  in  battle. 
Reared  in  England  in  the  rigor  of  an  older 
civilization,  fate  tested  and  tried  him  in  the 
struggle  for  a  newer  thought,  and  then  sent 
him  across  the  ocean  to  the  farthest  confines 
of  the  regnant  new  nation,  to  help  in  the 
creation  of  a  better  dispensation.  His  gen 
tleness  of  spirit  and  methods  of  thinking  and 
teaching  have  entered  into  the  lives  of  his 
disciples,  to  be  transmitted  to  others  through 
them. 

The  mission  of  this  moment  is  twofold. 
It  is  a  gratification  to  the  large  body  of 

155 


ADDRESS  IN  ACCEPTING  BRONZE 

living  students,  scholars  and  friends  0f  Pro 
fessor  Claypole,  scattered  over  the  world, 
that  he  was  so  appreciated  here,  where  his 
last  work  was  done,  as  to  lead  to  such  an  . 
honor  as   this  being  paid  to  his  "memory. 
But  more  than  this  must  be  its  value  to  the 
future  classes  of  students  who  will  be  im-* 
pressed  with  some  of  the  facts  of  his  life  and 
the  meaning  of  the  truths  he  stood  for ;  and 
it  will  evoke  a  spirit  of  emulation,  and  art; 
ambition  —  variously    wrought    out — to    be    . 
dedicated  to  like  living  and  thinking. 

Whether  it  is  a  perfect  likeness  of  his 
form  and  features  is  a  narrow  question* for 
our  momentary  discussion  of  today.  We 
know  that  the  generations  that  look  upon.it* 
in  the  long  future  will  agree  that  it  is  a  fig 
ure  of  great  strength  of  character,  and-  of 
power,  and  possessing  a  charm  that  will  en 
tice  men  to  study  it.  Those  who  knew  him 
best  and  loved  him  most  while  he  lived  are 
satisfied  with  the  work  of  the  artist,  and  we 
are  content  to  leave  with  the  future  the 
question  of  whether  the  figure  in  bronze  is 
one  worthy  to  have  been  made. 

This  gift  has  been  made  possible  by  the 
material  aid  of  one  who  has  the  modesty 
of  Professor  Claypole  himself.*  Endowed  in 
a  large  way  with  the  world's  success,  he  still 
has  the  same  sort  of  unselfishness,  and  no 
man  appreciates  more  than  he  the  value  of 

*The  late  Tod  Ford,  Sr. 

156 


BUST  OF  PROF.  CLAYPOLE 

those  qualities  that  are  worth  perpetuating 
in  bronze.  Unable  to  have  him  here  with 
us  now,  and,  by  his  gentle  insistence  for 
bidden  even  to  mention  his  name,  we  yet 
know  he  is  with  us  in  the  quiet  ways  of  the 
spirit,  and  is  glad  with  us. 

Thus  ends  an  episode  the  end  of  whose 
influence  on  the  future  nobody  can  tell.  It 
is  a  fortunate  chain  of  events  that  has  made 
it  possible.  First  the  man;  his  life  and 
influence ;  his  manifold  virtues  worthy  of 
commemoration.  Then  the  institution  of 
learning  where  he  last  displayed  his  mar 
velous  gifts,  having  the  custody  and  guard 
ing  of  the  bronze.  Next  the  generosity  that 
made  this  noble  work  of  art  possible.  Fi 
nally  the  far-spread  host  of  friends  glad  of 
its  consummation. 

Fortunate  man  to  have  died  full  of  years, 
after  such  a  career  and  with  a  glory  about 
his  head!  Enviable  friend  of  the  dead  and 
the  living  to  have  found  an  opportunity  that 
means  so  much  for  both !  Fortunate  halls 
of  study  to  be  the  depository  of  so  signal  a 
treasure ;  and  fortunate  most  of  all  the  learn 
ers  themselves  who  will  here  be  inspired  by 
the  face  of  this  greatest  of  students,  and 
wh6se  school  memories  and  intellectual  lives 
will  be  richer  and  more  noble  by  their  part- 
ownership  in  this  record. 


157 


Induction  Address 


Induction  Address 


.  Throop  College  of  Technology* 

Among  the  beautiful  customs  that  have 
come  down  to  us  from  the  past,  few. are  more 
••  pleasing  or  valuable  than  the  celebrations 
with  which  we  mark  the  epochs  in  our 
lives.  We  enjoy-  these  events  in  anticipa 
tion  and  in  their  realization,  and  we  treas 
ure  the  memory  of  them  after  they  are  over. 
They  have  a  certain  ministry  of  education 
for  us,  and  they  always  help  to  commit  us 
anew  to  our  better  ideals. 

Thus  we  celebrate  the  graduation  of  our 
children  and  youths  from  schools  and  col 
leges  ;  thus  we  emphasize  their  confirmation 
in  religion ;  thus  we  solemnize  their  mar 
riage  ;  so  we  mark  their  entry  into  a  new 
profession.  In  this  way  we  dedicate  churches 
and  institutions  and  men ;  and  all  concerned 

'Address  of  the  chairman  of  the  Board  of  Trustees  at 
the  public  installation  of  the  President,  November  19,  1908, 
Pasadena,  CaJ. 

161 


INDUCTION  ADDRESS 

feel  more  or  less  an  inspiration,  and  are 
given  afresh  to  their  saner  ambitions. 

The  dedication  of  a  progressive  man  of 
power  to  be  a  college  president  marks  an 
epoch  in  the  life  of  the  college  and  in  the 
career  of  the  man.  Neither  can  ever  be  the 
same  afterwards.  The  college  is  likely  to 
take  on  some  new  shades  of  policy  and  to 
feel  some  impulses  of  new  life ;  and  the  man 
is  usually  tempered  by  the  sense  of  a  re 
sponsibility  that  is  as  awful  as  battle  and  as 
sacred  as  life.  The  installation  becomes, 
then,  as  it  ought  always  to  be,  a  consecra 
tion. 

We  are  gathered  here  tonight  to  bestow 
such  a  dignity  upon  such  a  man.  We  are 
to  hear  words  of  welcome,  and  of  the  duties 
and  rewards  of  this  office,  from  the  lips  of 
others  whom  Providence  has  called  hereto 
fore  to  like  responsibilities.  We  are  finally 
to  listen  to  his  own  interpretation  of  his 
office,  and  of  his  hopes  and  ambitions  for 
this  institution  and  for  this  people.  We  are 
here  to  honor  him  and  the  college  alike, 
and,  let  us  hope,  to  be  ourselves  dedicated 
to  some  part  in  the  work  of  both. 

After  greetings  from  the  University  of  Southern 
California  through  Dr.  Healy;  Pomona  College 
through  President  Gates ;  Occidental  College  through 
President  Baer;  Whittier  College  through  Presi 
dent  Newlin,  and  the  Carnegie  Institution 

162 


INDUCTION  ADDRESS 

through  Dr.  George  E.  Hale,  Dr.  Bridge  further 
said: 

Dr.  Scherer:  In  formally  investing  you 
with  the  office  of  President  of  Throop  Col 
lege  we  do  not  offer  you  a  key,  real  or  meta- 
phoric,  of  a  building.  We  present  to  you 
rather  a  commission  to  a  charge  of  singular 
usefulness  and  of  vast  responsibility. 

It  is  a  momentous  thing  in  the  life  of  a 
man  to  find  his  true  work,  and  it  is  a  tragedy 
when  he  misses  it.  It  is  equally  momentous 
that  great  human  interests  and  forces  find  a 
fit  captain — as  it  is  a  sinful  w'aste  when  they 
fail  of  it.  This  hour,  it  seems  to  us,  has 
brought  the  man  and  the  work  together. 

Your  apparent  preparation  for  this  duty 
has  been  a  continuous  process  since  your 
childhood — in  a  profounder  sense  the  be 
ginning  of  your  preparation  dates  far  back 
of  your  grandparents.  Study  of  many  sorts 
in  many  lands,  varied  uplifting  activities, 
and  triumphs  over  obstacles,  have  ripened 
your  mind  and  character  for  this  labor. 
While  still  young  it  is  your  privilege  to  enter 
upon  what  promises  to  be  your  final  work 
and  the  consummation  of  your  career. 

You  have  been  called  hither  with  in 
genuous  unanimity,  and  your  election  is  sine 
die.  If  your  success  as  president  is  to  be 
measured  by  the  genuineness  of  your  wel- 

163 


INDUCTION  ADDRESS 

come  and  by  our  faith  in  you,  it  will  be  phe 
nomenal  indeed. 

Forty  years  ago,  the  dean  and  Nestor  of 
American  college  presidents  —  himself  a 
model  for  all  scholars  and  all  men — was  in 
stalled  in  Harvard  college.  Now,  covered 
with  glory  and  honor,  and  while  yet  vigor 
ous,  he  returns  his  commission  to  the 
authority  that  gave  it.  He  has  lived  to  see 
under  his  leadership  a  revolution  in  peda 
gogy  and  in  the  curricula  of  study  in  schools 
and  colleges,  and  the  vindication  of  the 
axiom  that,  in  matters  of  education,  com 
mon  sense  and  the  demands  of  this  age  are 
as  sacred  as  tradition.  He  has  made  us  un 
derstand  that  the  human  world  moves ;  and 
every  student  in  all  this  land  has  become 
his  debtor.  May  your  experience  here  be  as 
fortunate.  May  your  hand  be  as  steady  and 
your  poise  as  imperturbable  as  his  have 
been.  And  may  you  creditably  administer 
the  office  you  now  assume,  becoming  and  re 
maining  the  foremost  private  citizen  of  this 
community,  till  far  toward  the  midday  of 
this  twentieth  century. 

Our  academic  friends  and  neighbors  have 
honored  us  by  coming  here  tonight;  and 
they  have  brought  for  you  their  gifts  of  wel 
come  and  counsel.  We  have  welcomed  you 
to  our  hearts  already,  and  we  now  offer  you 
some  gifts  that  we  would  fain  hope  may 

164 


INDUCTION  ADDRESS 

cheer  your  spirit  and  make  your,  burden 
lighter.  We  give  you  first  the  frank  good 
will  of  the  people  of  this  incomparable  com 
munity.  I  am  sure  they  are  anxious  to  help 
you  in  any  way  they  can.  Some  can  do  lit 
tle,  others  much ;  but  all  can  help  somewhat 
and  somewhere.  Many  of  them  are  ignor 
ant  of  the  fact  that  a  college  of  your  kind  is 
the  greatest  moral  and  civic  asset  that  dis 
tinguishes  such  a  community  as  this  from 
others  less  fortunate,  and  they  are  waiting 
for  you  to  discover  to  them  their  opportuni 
ties. 

We  bring  you  the  gift  of  loving  labor — 
the  most  wholesome,  joyous  and  unselfish. 
We  cannot  hope  that  you  will  always  find 
your  task  easy — we  trust  and  believe  you 
will  have  strength  for  your  task;  and  no 
finer  work  awaits  the  hand  of  man  this  side 
of  the  stars. 

We  give  you  the  single-minded  loyalty 
and  mutualness  in  service  of  your  govern 
ing  board.  They  may  not  always  agree  with 
you ;  and  they  may  sometimes  try  to  con 
vince  you  that  they  know  as  much  about  an 
institution  of  learning  as  you  do,  but  most 
of  them  in  their  hearts  will  know  better; 
and  if  they  cannot  convince  you,  they  will 
be  glad  to  be  converted  at  your  hands. 

We  present  you  an  ample,  virgin  college 
campus,  with  stately  trees  and  a  grand  view 

165 


INDUCTION  ADDRESS 

of  the  mountains;  with  all  the  smiles  of 
nature  upon  it,  and  pictures  of  magnificence 
for  the  future.  Nor  do  we  try  to  disguise 
the  significant  interrogation  mark  beneath 
these  pictures. 

We  give  you  a  talisman  of  power,  which 
is  the  ability,  after  you  have  sought  what 
aid  and  encouragement  you  may,  and  plan 
ned  as  carefully  as  you  can  for  every  issue 
and  responsibility,  to  bear  your  ultimate 
burdens  philosophically  and  alone. 

Finally  we  bring  you  two  gifts  which  are 
the  talismans  of  youth,  and  the  joint  anti 
dote  to  the  fossilization  of  age.  One  is  the 
ambition  to  be  the  means  of  such  original 
work  as  shall  add  to  the  knowledge  of  the 
world  and  to  the  equipment  of  mankind. 
The  other  is  a  radiant  vision  of  an  unend 
ing  procession  of  children  and  youths — ex 
uberant  with  energy  and  power — on  the  way 
to  school  in  the  morning.  The  children  pass 
into  youths  and  the  youths  into  maturity 
and  out  of  the  column,  but  while  they  are 
there  they  are  for  you  to  inspire  and  guide. 
As  you  incline  your  ear  to  the  music  of  these 
charms,  your  life  shall  be  transfigured  with 
gladness,  and  although  years  may  wrinkle 
your  face  and  whiten  your  hair  you  shall 
never  grow  old. 

And  now,  by  the  authority  of  the  Board 
of  Trustees,  your  work-fellows  in  service 

166 


INDUCTION  ADDRESS 

more  than  your  legal  superiors,  and  with  the 
assistance  of  this  concourse  of  neighbors 
and  friends  who  are  graciously  here  as  wit 
nesses,  you  are  declared  to  be  the  confirmed 
and  very  president  of  Throop  College. 


167 


Charles  Dwight  Willard 


Charles  Dwight  Willard* 
An  Appreciation 


An  intellectual  life  is  always  a  mysterious 
and  precious  thing  in  our  human  world.  If 
such  a  life  is  endowed  with  industry, 
honesty  of  purpose  and  a  sense  of  propor 
tion  it  has  an  added  value.  If  it  has  also 
modesty  as  to  its  own  merits  and  attain 
ments,  and  a  sense  of  humor  for  the  tan 
gents  of  others,  it  is  by  such  token  a  gentle 
life  and  is  doubly  precious  as  a  conserving 
force  for  itself  and  others ;  and  if  to  all  these 
gifts  is  added,  as  a  dominant  emotion,  a 
fixed  purpose  to  try  to  better  the  lives  of 
those  about  it — then  that  life  is  as  choice 
as  it  is  rare.  Whether,  in  the  casual  calcu 
lation  of  the  street,  the  success  of  such  a  life 
is  much  or  little,  it  tinges  the  intellectual 
currents  about  it;  it  touches  with  its  own 
qualities  many  thoughtful  other  lives,  who 
in  turn  transmit  these  to  still  others,  in 

*Mr.  Willard  died  January  22,  1914. 

171 


CHARLES  DWIGHT  WILLARD 

whose  minds  they  may  come  to  acquire  the 
force  of  fixed  traits. 

The  passing  of  such  a  life  is  a  solemn 
event,  for  it  reveals  the  log  of  its  voyage 
and  the  balance-sheet  of  its  values,  and 
the  showing  is  sure  to  be  both  creditable 
and  honorable. 

Such  a  life  was  that  of  Charles  Dwight 
Willard— "Charlie"  Willard  always  to  those 
who  knew  him  best — and  we  are  proud  of 
its  record.  His  was  a  gentle  soul.  Intel 
lectual  to  a  high  degree,  gifted  with  a  sur 
passing  flavor  of  personality,  industrious 
under  a  cruel  handicap  for  many  years,  and 
with  a  courage  that  was  sublime,  he  accom 
plished  a  great  amount  of  telling  work 
where  another  would  have  given  up  in 
despair. 

He  was  mentally  fitted  for  a  literary 
career,  and  could  through  it  have  attained 
wide  fame  had  he  been  able  to  pursue  it 
continuously.  But  the  needs  of  his  house 
hold  compelled  him  to  give  most  of  his  time 
and  effort  to  work  more  directly  remunera 
tive  than  literature.  To  such  he  gave  him 
self  freely,  and  so  he  came  to  make  an 
enviable  record  in  several  pursuits:  in  jour 
nalism  years  ago;  in  the  Chamber  of  Com 
merce,  which  is  the  guardian  and  helper  of 
the  laudable  interests  of  the  community;  in 
the  Jobbers'  Association — for  the  interest  of 

172 


CHARLES  DWIGHT  WILLARD 

Los  Angeles  as  a  business  metropolis,  and 
in  the  Municipal  League,  which  is  com 
mitted  to  correct  and  economical  govern 
ment — a  paramount  need  in  a  city  of  such 
phenomenal  growth  as  that  of  Los  Angeles. 
Finally,  he  came  back  to  journalism  as  an 
editorial  writer  of  great  acceptability  and 
power. 

In  these  public  and  quasi-public  activities, 
in  pursuit  of  what  he  felt  to  be  his  line  of 
duty,  he  often  had  to  give  and  take  severe 
criticism.  That  which  he  received  he  took 
with  such  smiling  grace  as  would  have  been 
impossible  to  a  man  of  less  philosophy.  In 
that  he  gave  he  never  raised  his  voice  or 
used  undignified  language — but  nobody  was 
ever  left  in  any  doubt  as  to  his  meaning. 
And  many  of  those  who  at  times  sharply 
differed  from  him  respected  his  attitude, 
admired  his  force  and  ingenuity,  and  loved 
him  always. 

In  his  conversation  and  in  his  writings  he 
was  the  educated  gentleman  without  a 
shadow  of  cant  or  pedantry,  and  his  literary 
style  in  journalistic  and  other  writing  was 
charming  and  effective,  because  it  was  free 
from  stilted  and  fixed  forms,  and  it  was 
garnished  with  humor,  with  satire  and  with 
surprises — never  too  much,  always  just 
enough  to  give  charm  and  force,  and  with 
out  ever  giving  a  sense  of  excess. 

173 


CHARLES  DWIGHT  WILLARD 

His  story  of  "The  Fall  of  Ulysses"  is  a 
classic  in  style  and  a  masterpiece  in  gentle 
satire.  It  shows  what  magnificent  work  he 
was  capable  of,  and  what  he  might  have 
accomplished  could  he  have  pursued  freely 
that  line  of  effort.  He  wrote  several  other 
short  stories,  which,  let  us  hope,  will  now 
be  gathered  together  and  published  in  per 
manent  form.  He  wrote  several  histories, 
one  of  the  "City  of  Los  Angeles,"  one  of 
"The  Free  Harbor  Contest"  in  which  he 
bore  a  creditable  part;  one  of  the  "Los  An 
geles  Chamber  of  Commerce,"  which  he  had 
helped  to  build  up  into  a  power  in  the  com 
munity.  He  wrote  a  successful  text  book  on 
"City  Government  for  Young  People," 
which  by  his  work  in  the  Municipal  League 
and  his  broad  study  of  the  subject,  he  was 
well  fitted  to  do.  In  all  his  literary  work, 
as  in  all  his  work,  he  showed  himself  the 
careful  and  conscientious  scholar,  and  a 
good  critic  of  his  own  performances.  In 
1895  he  took  the  initiative  in  forming  the 
Sunset  Club  of  Los  Angeles.  His  purpose 
was  to  bring  together  once  a  month, 
throughout  most  of  the  year,  a  company  of 
congenial  souls  drawn  from  various  fields 
of  occupation  and  activity,  to  eat  a  dinner 
together  and  discuss  some  subject  of  human 
interest.  He  modestly  insisted  that  Judge 
Enoch  Knight,  of  blessed  memory,  should  be 

174 


CHARLES  DWIGHT  WILLARD 

its  first  president.  He  himself  was  afterward 
president,  and  his  spirit  and  genius  were 
always  an  influence  in  the  life  of  the  club. 
Its  members  have  now  an  opportunity  to 
evidence  their  continuing  respect  for  his 
memory  by  extending  their  regard  to  his 
devoted  wife  and  daughter ;  and  they  will 
not  neglect  the  privilege. 

Charlie's  good  fellowship  and  his  enjoy 
ment  of  his  friends  were  permanent  char 
acteristics  ;  and  he  had  a  power  of  attach 
ing  friends  to  him  in  a  remarkable  degree. 
For  this  there  is  only  one  possible  explana 
tion — namely,  his  charm  of  personality  and 
a  great  measure  of  that  quality  we  call 
character. 

He  was  a  man  of  wide  and  discriminating 
reading  and  enormous  information,  and  his 
conversation  was  always  full  of  surprises 
and  enjoyment  to  others.  His  face,  like  that 
of  his  wonderful  mother,  was  always  serious 
when  at  rest,  but  no  one  wrho  knew  him  wrill 
ever  forget  the  luminous  revelation  of  his 
laughter.  It  was  doubly  interesting  because 
it  was  never  for  effect,  but  always  the  token 
of  something  worth  laughter. 

On  partial  recovery  from  a  desperate 
sickness  in  Chicago  in  1885,  his  physicians 
insisted  that  he  should  go  to  California  in 
the  hope  of  prolonging  his  life.  He  pro 
tested,  but  finally  went  obediently.  When 

175 


CHARLES  DWIGHT  WILLARD 

a  few  years  afterward  he  welcomed  here 
one  of  those  physicians,  who  had  himself 
been  expatriated  for  a  similar  reason,  he 
laughed  explosively  that  his  friend  had  been 
obliged  to  take  his  own  medicine. 

Born  of  characterful  and  scholarly  par 
ents  into  a  family  of  numerous  children,  he 
had  a  childhood  and  youth  that  were  un- 
pampered,  and  full  of  duties.  The  family 
was  one  of  mentally  brilliant  parents  and 
children — all  of  them.  He  had  the  bent  of 
the  scholar,  which  he  was  to  his  dying  day, 
and  a  university  course  emphasized  the 
good  start  he  inherited  and  received  at 
home,  in  logical  and  systematic  thinking. 

He  started  out  in  a  life  work  with  the 
best  of  prospects,  but  in  two  years  he  was 
hit  by  an  infecting  blight  that  for  weeks 
threatened  to  be  speedily  mortal.  The  acute 
passed  into  a  chronic  ailment  that  he 
struggled  against  for  more  than  half  of  his 
lifetime.  It  changed  his  career;  it  trans 
formed  his  life,  and  it  transfigured  his  soul. 
Thereafter  he  lived  the  life  of  a  soldier  liable 
to  go  under  fire  at  any  moment.  His  fight 
against  his  infirmity  was  made  with  a  cour 
age  undaunted  by  pain,  and  undisturbed  by 
a  thought  of  surrender.  He  faced  his  mis 
fortunes  with  that  sort  of  manhood  that  be 
longs  to  the  saints,  and  that  has  been  the 
hope  of  all  the  ages.  His  mental  grasp  grew 

176 


CHARLES  DWIGHT  WILLARD 

more  comprehensive  and  his  philosophy 
more  clear  as  time  went  on.  Unembittered 
by  the  misfortunes  of  the  past,  he  kept  his 
face  toward  the  light  and  the  future,  and 
went  on  with  his  work  as  he  could — he  went 
on  with  it  as  few  men  could  do,  and  as 
few  ever  have  done. 

Until  a  few  weeks  ago  he  continued  to 
write  incisive  articles  with  the  evidence  of 
a  normal  and  superior  mind,  while  his 
friends  saw  plainly  that  the  angel  of  death 
was  hovering  near.  But  he  had  seen  the 
dark  shadow  often  before — it  was  familiar 
to  him,  and  he  was  little  disturbed,  except 
from  pain.  So,  when  the  angel  came  to 
him  in  his  sleep  at  about  the  hour  when  he 
had  finished  his  fifty-four  years  of  earthly 
life,  and  touched  him  tenderly,  and  told  him 
that  he  was  a  hero  and  had  worked  long 
enough,  and  that  he  had  earned  the  right 
to  his  freedom,  it  was  a  blessed  message, 
and  he  went  gladly.  And  those  who  loved 
him  will  hallow  his  memory,  and  be  better 
for  it,  but  they  will  not  begrudge  him  his 
release. 


177 


The  Southwest  Museum 


The  Southwest  Museum* 


We  are  assembled  here  today  to  celebrate 
the  beginning  of  a  notable  building;  one  that 
is  made  of  the  most  enduring  material,  and 
built  by  the  ultimate  word  of  engineering 
science.  The  structure  itself  and  the  ground 
on  which  it  stands  are  the  gifts  of  our  citi 
zens  to  the  community  as  a  whole,  for  a 
great  and  altogether  worthy  public  purpose. 
For  convenience  and  continuity  of  adminis 
tration,  the  property  is  held  and  managed  by 
a  corporation  created  for  the  purpose,  and 
known  as  "The  Southwest  Museum." 

We  are  about  to  place  in  one  of  the  walls 
of  this  building  a  memorial  stone  wrought 
out  of  the  hardest  granite,  duly  inscribed 
with  this  year  of  our  Lord  and  with  the  seal 
and  motto  of  the  corporation.  It  has  a  cav 
ern  chiseled  out  of  its  center  for  the  rest 
ing  place  of  a  metal  box,  in  which  will  be 
placed  numerous  documents  and  things  illus- 

*  Address  at  the  Memorial- Stone  Laying,  December  6. 
1913,  Museum  Hill,  Los  Angeles. 

181 


THE  SOUTHWEST  MUSEUM 

trative  of  our  time  and  efforts,  of  our  sociol 
ogy  and  our  place  in  history.  These  will  be 
sealed  against  the  ravages  of  time ;  and  we 
hope  they  may  not  need  to  see  the  light 
again  until  the  box  shall  be  opened,  per 
haps  with  surprise,  by  our  successors  in 
some  far-off  century. 

From  immemorial  time  the  ceremonial  of 
laying  the  corner-stone  (or  memorial-stone) 
of  buildings  for  public  use  has  been  com 
monly  observed.  More  than  this,  the  idea 
of  the  corner-stone  has,  through  probably  at 
least  twenty-five  centuries,  in  the  minds  of 
thinking  people,  typified  the  qualities  of  dig 
nity,  stability  and  worth. 

Longfellow  called  Plymouth  Rock  "the 
corner-stone  of  a  Nation."  James  Freeman 
Clark  said  that  "the  educated,  trained,  en 
lightened  conscience  is  the  corner-stone  of 
Society."  Shakespeare  made  one  of  his 
characters  in  Cariolanus  refer  to  the  corner 
stone  of  a  building  as  the  highest  expression 
of  immovableness.  "See  you  yond  coign  o* 
the  Capitol,  yond  corner-stone?"  "If  it  be 
possible  for  you  to  displace  it  with  your 
little  finger,  there  is  some  hope  that  the 
ladies  of  Rome,  especially  his  Mother,  may 
prevail  with  him."  St.  Paul  said  to  the 
Ephesians :  "Ye  are  built  upon  the  founda 
tions  of  the  Apostles  and  Prophets,  Jesus 
Christ  being  the  Chief  Corner-Stone."  And 

182 


THE  SOUTHWEST  MUSEUM 

in  that  poem  or  allegory,  the  Book  of  Job, 
the  Lord  says  to  the  man,  regarding  the 
foundations  of  the  earth :  "Whereupon  are 
the  foundations  thereof  fastened ;  or,  who 
laid  the  corner-stone  thereof?" 

The  laying  of  a  corner-stone  is  not  only 
a  pleasant  ceremonial,  to  be  remembered  as 
such,  but  it  is  in  the  nature  of  a  consecra 
tion  ;  it  commits  everyone  connected  with 
the  institution  to  the  completion  and  final 
dedication  of  the  structure  to  the  purposes 
of  its  creation.  From  today  this  pile  ceases 
to  be  merely  rock,  lime,  cement  and  iron. 
It  becomes  alive,  and  clothed  as  with  a  con 
sciousness  of  its  purpose,  and  determined  to 
fulfill  the  destiny  that  is  here  promised. 

No  community  in  the  pioneer  days  of  its 
life  builds  monuments  or  museums,  or 
founds  historical  societies,  for  it  has  nothing 
to  commemorate  by  monuments,  and  no  his 
tory — during  such  time  it  is  unconsciously 
making  history.  When  the  struggle  for  ex 
istence  is  sharp  upon  us,  we  have  no  time 
or  interest  for  museums,  and  we  may  ignore 
the  most  valuable  specimens,  or  even  crush 
them  under  our  feet.  For  such  institutions 
as  this  it  requires  that  a  people  shall  be  old 
enough  to  have  a  perspective  of  history, 
and  shall  have  become  prosperous  enough 
to  be  able  to  stop  and  take  account  of  its 
more  permanent  treasures. 

183 


THE  SOUTHWEST  MUSEUM 

And  this  community  has  reached  and 
passed  that  stage  of  its  life.  This  is  not  a 
new  country  of  this  continent,  as  is  usually 
supposed.  It  has  found  itself,  it  has  a  his 
tory,  and  has  come  to  its  monument-build 
ing  time.  Our  great  Southwest  country  wit 
nessed  the  beginning  of  civilization  long 
before  it  had  a  foothold  on  our  Atlantic  sea 
board.  We  boast  of  the  antiquity  of  Ply 
mouth  Rock,  and  that  some  of  our  own  an 
cestors  settled  in  New  England  early  in  the 
17th  century,  but  long  before  that  time  the 
Spanish  Padres  were  in  this  western  coun 
try,  bringing  civilization  as  well  as  the 
church  to  the  aborigines.  The  onrush  of 
our  later  English-speaking  growth  has  so 
submerged  the  earlier  Castilian  speech  that 
it  is  nearly  forgotten,  and  we  have  even  felt 
it  necessary  to  chisel  on  this  memorial- 
stone  a  translation  of  our  Spanish  motto: 
"Mariana  flor  de  sus  ayeres" — "Tomorrow 
shall  be  the  flower  of  all  its  yesterdays." 

Some  of  the  heritage  of  those  early  be 
ginnings  is  ours,  and  it  is  our  ambition  to 
here  preserve  to  the  uttermost  the  records 
of  them  and  of  the  aboriginal  life  back  of 
them.  In  this  noble  building,  proof  against 
weather,  time,  fire  and  the  temblors  of  the 
earth,  they  shall  be  kept  permanently,  and 
for  the  study  and  use  of  all  who  will  come 
and  profit  by  them. 

184 


THE  SOUTHWEST  MUSEUM 

We  cannot  build  monuments  like  the 
Egyptians  of  old ;  Karnak  and  the  Pyramids 
evidence  a  time  when  a  few  men  were  the 
merciless  taskmasters  of  the  unwilling  mul 
titude.  No  such  bondage  as  that  is  for  us 
in  the  building  of  our  monuments,  and  we 
would  not  have  it  if  we  could.  We  can 
build,  and  we  are  here  building,  a  structure 
capable  of  defying  the  centuries,  and  not  for 
the  vanity  of  kings,  but  for  the  learning  and 
pleasure  of  everybody  who  will  come. 

The  archives  of  man's  life  and  progress 
upon  the  earth  are  a  sacred  thing.  We  make 
it  an  offense  against  the  law  to  disturb  a 
surveyor's  stake  or  a  boundary  monument 
of  any  sort.  The  evidences  of  the  march  of 
mankind  and  the  changes  of  human  social 
life  are  more  valuable,  if  not  more  neces 
sary,  and  civilization  has  had  a  sad  time  in 
preserving  its  records  during  some  of  its 
centuries.  But  for  the  Fathers  of  the  early 
Christian  Church  there  would  today  be  a 
vast  gap  in  the  story  of  it.  We  can  never 
thank  the  Church  enough  for  preserving 
those  early  archives,  as  we  cannot  be  suf 
ficiently  grateful  to  the  same  Church  in  this 
later  day  for  a  large  collection  illustrating 
the  early  history  of  this  western  land.  We 
are  determined  that  our  most  acceptable 
thanks  shall  be  the  careful  preservation  of 
all  of  these  records. 

185 


THE  SOUTHWEST  MUSEUM 

This  Museum  will  house  such  specimens, 
manuscripts,  books,  pictures  and  other 
things  as  may,  in  the  judgment  of  the  man 
agement,  be  of  permanent  value.  Among 
those  things  that  will  be  guarded  as  most 
precious  are  all  documents  and  things  that 
illustrate  the  life  of  man  in  this  country, 
especially  of  the  southwest  part  of  it,  both 
before  and  after  the  beginning  of  recorded 
history.  These  will  be  gathered  with  all 
the  industry  we  can  command,  and  will  be 
hoarded  with  jealous  care. 

Our  ambition  is  that  the  wealth  of  this 
collection  shall  be  used  for  the  enlighten 
ment  and  education  of  this  people.  Every 
encouragement  will  be  given  to  students  of 
any  subject  who  can  make  the  collection 
useful  without  injury  to  it  or  dissipating  its 
parts.  We  trust  that  the  Museum  will  fur 
nish  in  time  to  come  many  great  object 
lessons,  and  be  one  of  the  fields  of  objective 
instruction  in  the  regular  work  of  some  of 
the  schools  of  this  city,  and  of  all  the  col 
leges  and  universities  in  the  Southwest. 
There  are  six  such  institutions  of  higher 
learning  in  this  neighborhood  now,  each 
having  something  of  a  museum  of  its  own. 
We  place  this  collection  at  their  service  and 
urge  its  use  in  regular  pilgrimages  to  its 
halls  by  faculties  and  students.  We  will 
assist  the  colleges  by  exchanges  and  other- 

186 


THE  SOUTHWEST  MUSEUM 

wise  in  enriching  their  own  collections,  as 
we  will  applaud  all  their  successes  of  what 
ever  sort,  like  the  true  allies  in  their  work 
that  we  intend  to  be. 

We  hope  not  only  to  have  some  additions 
to  our  present  building,  but  to  have  an  out 
door  amphitheatre  where  we  can  have 
classes  from  the  schools  and  the  public  to 
receive  instruction  illustrated  by  specimens 
from  the  Museum  in  the  various  lines  in 
which  the  collection  is  rich.  And  the 
Museum  is  ready  to  illustrate  numerous  les 
sons  in  half  a  dozen  different  sciences. 

During  the  last  four  years  more  than 
8,000  teachers  and  students  have  received 
illustrated  instruction,  mostly  at  the  hands 
of  our  wise  and  unselfish  curator,  Hector 
Alliot.  This  teaching  has  been  largely 
given  in  the  various  branches  of  archae 
ology  ;  but  we  expect  that  in  the  future  such 
educational  work  will  extend  to  botany, 
conchology,  ornithology,  mineralogy,  an 
thropology  and  perhaps  zoology. 

There  is  almost  no  limit  to  the  benefit  the 
Museum  can  render  the  public  in  the  way 
indicated.  We  have  no  sympathy  with  the 
idea  that  a  museum  should  be  a  storehouse 
apart  from  the  living  interests  of  the  public. 
We  hope  to  make  this  a  storehouse  by  pre 
serving  carefully  all  its  treasures.  But  we 
are  equally  anxious  to  bring  the  knowledge 

187 


THE  SOUTHWEST  MUSEUM 

which  the  Museum  embodies  to  the  people, 
and  we  shall  resort  to  every  and  any  meas 
ure  within  wisdom  and  reason  to  bring  this 
about. 

The  Southwest,  contrary  to  the  casual 
estimate  of  many  of  our  people,  is  rich  in 
archaeological  material.  We  of  this  me 
tropolis  ought  to  have  begun  long  ago  in  a 
substantial  way  to  gather  and  preserve  this 
vast  historic  wealth.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
thousands  of  our  specimens  have,  during  our 
years  of  inactivity,  gone  to  the  East  and  to 
Europe  to  enrich  their  already  enormous 
collections ;  but  we  believe  that  enough  ma 
terial  is  left  that  we  can  secure  above 
ground,  and  by  delving  into  the  earth,  to 
fill  several  buildings  of  the  size  of  this  one. 
We  have  a  collection  now  in  hand  that,  in 
cluding  books  and  documents,  must  number 
at  least  122,000  articles;  and  it  will  require 
probably  more  than  one-half  of  the  present 
building  to  house  this  material  properly. 
Several  valuable  collections  now  in  private 
hands  are  promised  us  as  soon  as  we  occupy 
these  new  quarters;  and  we  expect  that  be 
fore  many  years  we  shall  be  asking  our  citi 
zens  for  funds  with  which  to  build  succes 
sive  additions  to  this  structure. 

This  building  is  constructed  of  the  best 
concrete,  reinforced  in  the  most  efficient 
way.  Its  foundations  were  carried  far  down 

188 


THE  SOUTHWEST  MUSEUM 

into  the  earth  to  make  sure  of  stability. 
Tons  of  steel  enter  into  the  construction, 
including  the  roof,  which  is  to  be  of  steel 
hidden  by  concrete,  and  its  covering  is  to 
be  of  tile.  Only  the  cases  and  a  few  other 
parts  will  be  of  combustible  material,  so 
that  the  collection  will  be  safe  from  fire. 
The  location  of  the  structure  on  a  large  tract 
of  land  protects  it  from  any  harm  from  its 
neighbors,  and  its  elevation  above  the  street 
adds  to  its  safety. 

The  present  building  is  only  a  part  of  the 
plan  of  the  ultimate  structure  which  we 
hope  will  some  day  be  built  here,  the  part 
now  under  way  being  the  front  of  the  pile, 
the  later  parts  to  be  extensions  back  from 
the  ends  of  this  one,  with  the  outdoor  am 
phitheatre  between. 

The  present  magnificent  central  pavilion, 
guarded  by  two  imposing  towers,  will  make 
a  symmetrical  whole,  with  an  appearance  of 
completeness.  Our  friends  have  approved 
of  the  pictures  of  it — they  will  admire  the 
finished  product. 

The  central  pavilion  will  bear  the  name 
of  the  noble  woman  who  bequeathed  fifty 
thousand  dollars  for  this  purpose,  and  to 
whom  be  all  honor  for  her  generous  im 
pulses  and  for  the  wise  conditions  of  her 
gift.  This  part  of  the  building  will  be  called 
"The  Carrie  M.  Jones  Memorial  Halls." 

189 


THE  SOUTHWEST  MUSEUM 

The  smaller  tower  at  the  southwest  end 
of  the  main  pavilion  will  bear  the  name  of 
the  donor  of  it — a  citizen  who  is  as  unosten 
tatious  as  he  is  generous  and  able,  and  who 
always  prefers  that  his  gifts  shall  go  unher 
alded.  Until  now  he  has  forbidden  us  to 
mention  his  name  in  this  connection ;  but 
at  last  he  has,  at  our  urgent  request,  with 
drawn  the  injunction.  His  name  is  Jared 
S.  Torrance,  and  the  tower  will  be  known  as 
"The  Torrance  Tower." 

The  large  tower  at  the  other  end  of  the 
building  will  be  so  grand  a  pile  that  the 
suggestion  seemed  natural  to  borrow  a  name 
from  the  Yosemite  Valley,  and  call  it  "El 
Capitan."  But  it  has  been  determined  to 
give  it  a  more  usable  name,  and  one  has 
been  chosen  that  is  suggested  by  the  cara 
cole  in  its  center — a  spiral,  auger-shaped 
stairway,  said  to  be  unique  in  America  in 
buildings  of  this  sort.  It  will  be  called  "The 
Caracole  Tower." 

That  this  building  might  never  be  lost 
among,  or  be  overshadowed  by,  surround 
ing  structures,  and  for  sundry  other  rea 
sons,  it  is  purposely  placed  on  a  hill.  So  it 
is  in  view  of  all  the  people,  and  it  is  not 
reached  too  easily.  The  moving  multitude 
will  see  it,  and  all  who  are  capable  will  ad 
mire  its  expansive  proportions  and  its  rug 
ged  and  fitting  architecture.  Out  of  the  in- 

190 


THE  SOUTHWEST  MUSEUM 

quisitiveness  of  our  American  race,  many 
will  come  to  know  its  purpose  and  mis 
sion,  and  will  tell  their  neighbors  about  it. 

A  few  people  have  objected  to  the  hill- 
climbing  necessary  to  reach  this  spot,  and 
fancy  that  this  circumstance  may  impair  the 
usefulness  of  the  institution ;  but  they  for 
get  some  facts  of  their  own  experience.  No 
student  in  search  of  knowledge,  or  even 
amusement,  will  be  daunted  by  this  hill,  or 
by  one  much  higher.  Students  of  all  ages 
have  known  that  for  knowledge  they  must 
search  hard,  dig  deep  and  climb  high;  and 
they  never  stop.  People  with  even  curios 
ity  do  not  stop  at  a  trifle  of  a  hill ;  they  climb 
mountains,  monuments  and  campaniles,  and 
go  on  long  hiking  trips  with  joy  and  bene 
fit.  When  they  climb  this  hill,  if  they  will 
only  come  on  their  own  feet  and  not  by  an 
automobile,  they  shall  add  to  the  compensa 
tion  of  knowledge  the  thrill  of  the  exercise, 
and  have  besides  a  more  compensating  view 
of  magnificent  mountains,  and  of  an  evolv 
ing  metropolis  of  half  a  million  people. 
Moreover,  the  hill  will  give  the  Museum  to 
know  who  its  real  friends  and  beneficiaries 
are ;  but  the  Corporation  will  not  reject  the 
gift  of  a  flight  of  easy  steps,  or  an  automatic 
elevator,  from  any  friend  who  cares  to  offer. 

This  hill  site  of  16  acres,  costing  some 
thing  over  $30,000,  is  a  gift  to  the  Corpora- 

191 


THE  SOUTHWEST  MUSEUM 

tion  by  about  fifty  donors.  This  building 
with  its  furniture  and  appurtenances,  which 
will  cost  much  over  $100,000,  will  be  the 
gift  of  fewer  than  one  hundred  donors.* 
These  figures  indicate  a  restricted  interest 
in  this  work,  and  it  may  be  asked  whether 
any  public  work  that  enlists  the  sympathy 
of  so  few  people  can  be  of  vital  consequence 
to  the  people  as  a  whole.  But  it  must  be 
remembered  that  all  public  movements  of 
a  voluntary  character  are  started  by  a  few 
people;  helping  friends  come  later.  This  is 
the  history  of  all  agitations  for  better  health 
and  more  safety  for  the  people,  for  better 
education,  more  enjoyment,  greater  ad 
vantages  and  better  outlook  for  us  all.  This 
is  the  history  of  such  movements  in  behalf 
of  schools,  colleges,  eleemosynary  institu 
tions,  art  galleries,  museums  and  many 
other  helpful  and  ennobling  forces,  without 
which  we  should  today  be  poor  indeed. 

The  busy  throng  have  had  to  be  con 
vinced  of  the  value  and  need  of  such  move 
ments  before  many  of  those  who  could  help 
have  been  moved  to  consider  their  personal 
duty  to  the  present  and  future.  The  casual 
man  of  the  street  thinks  little  about  these 
things;  but  the  growth  in  consequence  of 
any  community  is  measured  exactly  by  the 

*This  does  not  include  the  large  number  of  donors  to 
the  collection — members  of  the  Southwest  Society  and  others. 

192 


THE  SOUTHWEST  MUSEUM 

proportion  of  such  men,  who,  early  or  late 
in  their  lives,  discover  some  ideals  that  have 
previously  lain  dormant  in  their  souls;  who 
remember  that  some  day  they  must  leave 
their  worldly  goods  behind  them,  that  the 
newer  generations  will  live  after  them ;  and 
who  come  to  know  in  an  abiding  way  that 
no  man  worthy  of  the  name  really  lives 
wholly  "unto  himself." 

This  corporation  of  the  Southwest  Mu 
seum  is  the  offspring  of  the  "Southwest 
Society  of  the  Archaeological  Institute,"  of 
some  four  hundred  members.  These  mem 
bers  have  watched  the  growth  of  the  Mu 
seum  with  deep  interest.  Now  that  their 
child  has  attained  to  the  dignity  of  a  larger 
public  notice  and  the  opportunity  of  wider 
usefulness,  with  a  proper  building  in  which 
to  house  its  ingatherings,  there  is  added 
reason  for  the  members  to  understand  that 
the  Museum  is  still  their  responsibility  for 
such  aid  and  counsel  as  they  can  give  it. 
The  work  will  profit  by  any  material 
strength  they  can  give,  by  assisting  in  find 
ing,  tracing  out  and  securing  material,  and 
not  least  by  forming  a  body  of  wise  public 
opinion  for  advice,  admonition  and  encour 
agement.  We  trust  that  all  the  members 
will  visit  this  hill  often  enough  to  keep  in 
touch  with  our  doings;  and  we  promise 
them  that  we  are  their  servants,  and 

193 


THE  SOUTHWEST  MUSEUM 

learners  from  all  people  who  will  bring  us  a 
wiser  thought  than  we  have,  or  who  will 
show  us  how  we  can,  within  our  abilities, 
serve  the  public  better. 

No  broad  enlightenment  or  wide  vision 
conies  to  any  community  that  is  out  of  its 
swaddling  clothes  of  time  and  growth,  if 
it  neglects  its  schools  and  colleges,  its 
means  of  personal  welfare,  or  if  it  ignores  its 
own  history  as  expressed  in  its  monuments, 
learned  societies  and  museums. 

This  community  has  gone  far  in  material 
growth,  in  amassing  wealth,  and  in  creating 
beauty.  It  is  spending  its  money  freely  in 
various  creditable  ways. 

Every  year  reveals  additions  to  that  con 
siderable  body  of  our  citizens,  both  men 
and  women,  who  conceive  that  possessions 
mean  responsibility  and  a  duty  to  others, 
which  can  be  discharged  only  by  giving 
some  of  their  surplus — and  with  it  giving 
themselves — to  those  things  that  glorify  the 
city,  enhance  its  ideals,  ennoble  its  citizen 
ship,  and  stamp  it  as  being  in  the  forefront 
of  western  enlightenment. 

The  monument  that  is  rising  on  this  hill 
testifies  to  that  spirit;  and  in  its  imposing 
harmony,  as  well  as  in  its  expanding  career, 
it  will  realize  these  purposes.  From  the 
exhibits  within  its  walls,  in  the  years  to 
come,  an  unending  succession  of  youths 

194 


THE  SOUTHWEST  MUSEUM 

shall  acquire  knowledge  and  new  ambitions 
for  self-development  and  finer  ideals;  they 
shall  thereby  have  better  views  of  life  and 
duty,  and  the  joy  that  comes  of  wider  use 
fulness. 


195 


Vermont 


Vermont* 


It  is  a  pleasure  to  acknowledge  the  del 
icate  compliment  of  your  call  to  stand  in 
this  place  at  this  time.  The  honor  is  sin 
cerely  appreciated,  and  not  less  so  because 
it  came  as  a  genuine  surprise.  And  I  shall 
hope  to  avoid  any  regrets  on  your  part  by 
refraining  from  a  long  speech.  This  is  a 
time  both  of  good  cheer  and  mercy.  It 
would  be  unfair  to  you,  to  deliver  a  lengthy 
address,  or  even  to  read  a  lecture  on  the 
history  of  Vermont,  interesting  as  that  sub 
ject  is. 

This  association  is  to  be  congratulated  on 
this  goodly  gathering  of  good  people  to  mix 
an  evening  of  enjoyment  with  a  revival  of 
memories  of  the  hills  and  brooks,  and  to 
pay  a  tender  tribute  to  an  honored  old  state. 
The  association  is  to  be  felicitated,  too,  on 
its  own  vigor  after  these  dozen  years,  and 
the  growth  rather  than  the  waning  of  the 

*Presidential  Address,  at  the  annual  banquet  of  the 
Illinois  Association  of  the  Sons  of  Vermont,  January  17, 
1889. 

199 


VERMONT 

warm  emotions  we  have  for  Vermont  and 
her  memories. 

This  occasion  means  much  more  than  an 
hour  of  enjoyment,  and  because  it  is  one 
of  a  long  series  of  annual  gatherings  of  the 
kind  there  must  be  something  in  Vermont 
as  an  idea. 

Vermonters  are  peculiar  in  having  an 
abiding  attachment  for  their  native  state 
and  her  history.  Some  people  laugh  at  this 
sentiment,  some  even  doubt  its  existence, 
and  some  call  it  unpatriotic;  while  most 
who  are  outside  the  circle,  and  who  try, 
wholly  fail  either  to  understand  or  account 
for  it.  Some  say  its  existence  is  due  to  the 
fact  that  Vermont  is  so  inhospitable  and 
barren,  and  that,  in  proportion  as  a  people 
ought  to  leave  a  birthplace  on  a  poor  soil 
for  richer  soil  and  better  homes,  are  they 
always  reluctant  to  do  so,  and  look  back 
with  regret  after  they  have  moved.  Some 
attribute  the  sentiment  to  what  they  term 
the  inborn  conceit  of  the  native  Vermonter, 
and  others  to  his  ignorance.  We  are  told 
again  the  old  story  that  somewhere  in  Ver 
mont  the  sheep  were  fenced  away  from  the 
rocks  to  prevent  them  from  starving,  and 
we  often  have  quoted  at  us,  and  we  some 
times  quote,  the  saying  attributed  first  to 
Senator  Douglas,  that  "it  is  a  good  state  to 
be  born  in  and  to  emigrate  from." 

200 


VERMONT 

It  must  be  acknowledged  that  this  feeling 
has  been  shared  by  many  of  us.  Scattered 
through  the  West  are  many  men  who  look 
back  to  the  toil  of  their  early  years  among 
the  rocks  with  a  sense  of  comfort  that  for 
tune  has  carried  them  to  more  congenial  if 
not  to  easier  paths.  Yet  the  sentiment  of 
veneration  and  attachment  for  Vermont 
remains  among  the  best  of  her  wandering 
sons  and  daughters  as  a  most  interesting 
example  of  its  kind.  Nor  is  its  genesis  re 
markable  or  hidden.  Love  of  country,  like 
many  another  noble  sentiment,  grows  from 
hard  seed ;  it  is  not  the  outcome  of  mere 
pleasure,  but  of  such  severe  experiences  as 
make  deep,  and  therefore  lasting  impres 
sions  upon  men.  Long  years  of  life  together 
with  like  aims  and  interests,  with  a  fra 
ternal,  neighbor  feeling,  in  toil  and  priva 
tion,  in  struggles  and  contests;  with  love 
for  a  common  cause  and  hatred  for  a  com 
mon  enemy — and  moved  in  both  by  a 
chivalric  manhood — these  experiences  weld 
a  people  together  in  a  love  of  country  and 
home — and  the  very  name  and  picture  of 
them — that  lasts  as  long  as  the  people  last, 
scattered  though  they  be,  and  that  lives  in 
song  and  story  after  the  race  is  extinct. 

Vermont  has  furnished  all  these  elements 
in  abundance.  Contests  and  troubles  began 
in  her  territory  before  it  was  inhabited, 

201 


VERMONT 

when  the  Indians  and  the  unfriendly  French 
in  Canada  made  any  but  the  bravest  fear  to 
settle  there.  After  the  British  took  Canada, 
Vermont  was  more  rapidly  occupied  by  a 
sturdy  and  venturesome  people,  who  were 
poor,  and  not  afraid  of  work. 

This  people  learned  a  respect  for  their 
hills  and  for  each  other  by  the  trials  that 
followed.  For  then  began  a  warfare  that 
waxed  with  wide  fluctuations,  and  in  forms 
numerous,  for  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  cen 
tury. 

In  that  warfare  they  protested  and 
argued;  they  fought,  both  to  terrify  and  to 
kill,  and  both  in  armies  and  individually; 
and  they  defended  the  law  generally,  but 
sometimes  took  it  into  their  own  hands. 

For  thirty  years  Vermont  was  an  inde 
pendent  country.  After  she  had  been  inde 
pendent  for  half  a  generation  she  declared 
formally — in  1777 — that  she  was  inde 
pendent  of  everybody,  and  intended  to 
remain  so.  She  had  no  more  partnership 
with  the  colonies  or  with  the  United  States 
than  Mexico  has  now.  She  was  isolated 
from  the  colonies  about  her ;  more  than  that, 
she  was  at  odds  with  them  all.  She  re 
sisted  New  York  in  a  persistent  attempt 
at  what  she  regarded  as  land  robbery; 
and  she  defied  New  Hampshire  and  Mas 
sachusetts  in  their  similar,  if  less  mon- 

202 


VERMONT 

strous,  efforts.  Early  in  the  war  of  the 
Revolution  she  fought  hard  against  the 
British,  as  the  battles  of  Ticonderoga  and 
Bennington  attest,  and  afterward  when  her 
armies  were  confronted  with  overpowering 
numbers,  she  accomplished  by  diplomacy 
what  she  could  not  by  force,  namely,  a  truce, 
which  lasted  nearly  two  years,  and  till  the 
war  of  the  Revolution  was  over.  But  this 
did  not  prevent  her  sons  individually  from 
remaining  in  the  armies  of  the  Revolution. 

Afterward  she  maintained  her  defiance  of 
neighboring  states  on  the  ante-revolution 
ary  issues  of  land  robbery  and  self-govern 
ment.  She  made  her  own  laws  and  executed 
them,  and  was  a  law  unto  herself,  until  she 
was  finally  admitted  to  the  union  in  1791. 
She  was  the  only  part  of  the  country  that 
fought  Great  Britain  which  the  latter  never 
acknowledged  to  be  independent. 

It  was  in  my  native  town  of  Windsor  that 
in  1777  a  new  constitution  was  adopted, 
creating  the  name  of  Vermont  and  for 
bidding  slavery  within  her  territory ;  no 
other  state  had  at  that  time  abolished 
slavery. 

Vermont  could  have  remained  out  of  the 
union  indefinitely  had  she  so  minded,  but 
she  was  anxious  to  be  a  part  of  that  govern 
ment  which  even  then  gave  promise  of  what 
it  has  become,  the  marvel  of  history.  Since 

203 


VERMONT 

the  time  when — moved  by  the  true  national 
spirit — she  renounced  her  independence  and 
passed  into  the  union  of  states,  her  history 
flows  into  the  noble  stream  that  belongs  to 
the  whole  country.  Her  marked  and  dis 
tinctive  individuality,  and  what  may  be 
termed  her  exclusive  sentiment-inspiring 
age,  ceased  with  that  event.  The  old  spirit 
and  strength  of  the  people  continued,  and 
let  us  hope,  have  descended  in  some  part 
to  their  children,  but  the  sentiment  has 
changed  as  that  epoch  has  receded  into  the 
past.  The  moving  years  have  softened  its 
fervor,  as  they  have  given  it  the  glamour 
of  age,  and  touched  its  source  with  the  en 
chantment  of  distance. 

To  us  a  thousand  miles  away  the  moun 
tains  of  changing  colors  and  the  life  of  long 
ago,  are  at  once  a  memory  and  an  inspira 
tion.  Amid  scenes  so  utterly  changed  we 
sometimes  fancy  we  have  outgrown  the 
Vermont  of  our  youth.  In  some  things 
probably  we  have.  We  may  be  less  pro 
vincial,  more  cosmopolitan  and  broader.  I 
greatly  fear  we  have  not  always  grown  in 
goodness  as  much  as  we  have  in  the  arts  and 
ways  of  the  world. 

Many  of  us  who  came  from  the  depths 
of  the  hills,  can  never,  as  we  would  never, 
grow  away  from  the  memory  of  the  simple, 
frugal  home  life  of  that  time,  or  of  its  many 

204 


VERMONT 

child  pleasures  perhaps  nowhere  else  ever 
matched.  These  rush  upon  our  recollection 
in  a  tumult.  Jostling  each  other  for  the 
foreground  are  the  old  cider  mill  and  the 
expert  manipulation  of  a  straw,  the  apple 
parings,  the  running  sap  and  the  sugaring- 
off,  the  half  mile  rush  on  some  Nature's 
toboggan,  the  butternut  crackings,  the 
spruce  gum,  and  a  hundred  other  memories 
of  delight. 

When  we  recall  those  scenes,  and  our 
playmates  and  what  has  become  of  most  of 
them ;  our  fathers  who  protected  us  and 
taught  and  enticed  us  to  work ;  but  most  of 
all  when  we  remember  our  mothers  who 
watched  over  and  worked  for  us,  who  took 
our  part  in  many  a  scrape,  and  afterward 
easily  forgot  them,  whose  hands  and  feet 
seemed  never  to  tire  in  the  drudgery  of 
housework  or  in  keeping  time  with  the  hum 
of  the  old  spinning  wheel  or  the  loom  that 
made  the  cloth  that  grew  under  their  hands 
into  the  garments  that  covered  us — then 
often  our  eyes  become  blurred  as  we  look 
through  a  softening  mist,  and  in  the  hush 
of  all  vanity  we  are  thankful  for  the 
memory. 

Deliberatively  we  can  afford  to  look  this 
youngest  of  the  old  states  squarely  in  the 
face,  and  not  claim  one  thing  for  her  un 
fairly.  There  is  enough  in  her  history  to 

205 


VERMONT 

be  proud  of,  and  enough  in  the  early  dis 
cipline  of  her  people  to  make  us  glad  for 
its  ministry  in  life.  So,  fairly  claiming 
much,  we  can  afford  to  be  candid  and  not 
claim  everything,  even  of  the  good.  Ver 
mont  was  not,  then,  in  this  country,  the 
home  of  learning,  although  many  learned 
men  and  women  living  and  dead  were  born 
there.  We  can  never  expect  her  to  take 
rank  in  this  respect  with  Massachusetts 
and  Connecticut.  There  was  no  leisure 
class,  nor  endowments  of  learning.  The 
people  were  too  poor  to  found  and  maintain 
and  fill  great  schools* — they  were  working 
hard  to  get  a  living  out  of  a  rocky  soil. 

Nor  was  she  the  cradle  of  American  liter 
ature  either  in  prose  or  poetry — although 
some  good  books  have  been  written  by  Ver- 
monters — nor  of  art  or  science.  A  fierce 
struggle  for  existence  illy  conduces  to  such 
pursuits.  Still  many  Vermonters  have  been 
tolerably  versed  in  these  things,  and  have 
made  some  records  not  to  be  ashamed  of. 
Vermont  has  always  fostered  statesman 
ship,  and  practiced  a  high  order  of  it  very 
early,  and  the  behavior  of  her  sons  in  battle 
has  always  been  her  glory. 

Rather  has  this  grand  state  been  the  home 
and  developing  soil  of  those  qualities  of 


*Vermont    University    was    founded    in    1791;    Middlebury 
College  in  1840. 

206 


VERMONT 

men  and  women  that,  well  balanced,  have 
made  them  capable,  not  only  of  taking  care 
of  themselves,  but  of  becoming,  the  world 
over,  successful  and  even  famous  in  every 
honorable  calling  in  life.  Their  success  has 
been  striking,  everywhere,  and  not  least  in 
those  fields  of  effort  requiring  intelligence, 
skill  and  education. 

Only  a  few  of  the  youth  could,  in  the 
early  time,  go  to  the  village  academy,  and 
fewer  could  go  to  college ;  but  all  could 
graduate  in  the  industrial  school  of  life.  Ver 
mont  has  been  pre-eminently  a  school  of  the 
industrial  faculties,  where  her  people  have 
learned  how  to  toil  in  multifarious  direc 
tions  with  their  hands  and  simple  tools,  as 
well  as  with  their  heads — a  great,  rude, 
manual-training  school.  Its  graduates  could 
work  and  wrere  not  afraid  to,  and  they  could 
easily  learn  expertness  in  any  new  direction. 

Hard  experience  taught  them  how  to  wait 
as  well  as  to  work,  and  to  be  glad  of  any 
return  that  was  a  gain  or  a  growth.  They 
acquired  in  this  school  positive  ideas  of 
ethics,  and  sometimes  drew  the  lines  amaz 
ing  fine.  Their  hatred  of  a  mean  act  was 
as  lasting  as  it  was  intense,  and  it  often  fol 
lowed  a  man  to  his  grave.  I  remember 
a  good  man  of  my  native  town  who  was 
once  defeated  for  the  legislature  and  was  in 
disfavor  ever  after\vard,  because  he  was  said 

207 


VERMONT 

to  have  asked  a  man  to  vote  for  him.  Of 
course  such  a  standard  would  not  do  for 
Illinois,  and  might  not  for  the  Vermont  of 
today.  But  the  hatred  of  these  people  for 
mean  acts  ennobled  their  conception  of  the 
good,  strengthened  their  self-respect  and 
self-discipline,  and  made  them  a  people 
noted  for  sobriety,  a  sense  of  justice,  and  for 
personal  and  public  virtue.  If  their  sons 
and  daughters  who  have  wandered  away 
and  around  the  world  have  anywhere  for 
gotten,  and  fallen  from  this  high  standard, 
the  guilt  is  upon  them — and  the  Vermont  of 
old  will  not  forgive  them. 


208 


The  Edge  of  the  Cliff 


The  Edge  of  the  Cliff 


Thou  thing  we  cannot  touch,  nor  yet  can  see. 
Nor  yet  define ;  thou  something  called  by 

men 
Remorse :     Say   why    should   now   my   life, 

my  way 

Be  haunted  by  thy  presence?    Tell  me,  then. 
Whence  thou  hast  come,  and  why  through 

night  and  day 
The  sweets  of  life  should  bitter  get  from 

thee. 

A  little  fault  in  thoughtless  moment  done 
Is  all  my  sin ;  no  guile,  no  malice,  naught 
Toward  man  or  thing  was  in  my  heart  or 

mind 
Of   ill ;   but   came   the   deed   from   want   of 

thought. 

And  now  my  peace  of  mind  and  all  my  joy, 
My  strength  of  nerve  and  power  of  heart 

and  head, 

And  all  my  rest  by  night,  at  thy  approach, 
Have  from  thy  weird  and  awful  presence 

fled. 

211 


THE  EDGE  OF  THE  CLIFF 

My  dreams  thou  hauntest  like  some  demon 

sprite, 

To  magnify  my  fault  and  make  it  seem 
Tenfold  more  great  than  'tis,  and  future  days 
To  picture  filled  with  woe  an  endless  stream. 
Thou  say'st  to  me,  from  all  the  good  and 

pure 
Of  earth  and  heaven,  my  life  this  act  has 

torn; 

Thou  temptest  me  to  feel,  to  think,  to  say — 
The  thought  of  hell — would  I  had  not  been 

born. 

I  sit  at  my  repast  or  meet  a  friend, 
Or  something  new  or  beautiful  behold, 
And  feel  at  once  the  day  of  tranquil  joy 
Begin  again  to  dawn,  its  clouds  all  gold, 
When  thou  appearest,  and,  hurling  in  my 

face 
My  fault  to  make  me  burn  and  writhe  and 

shake, 

Lest  others  see  it  too,  dost  poison  pour 
Into  the  cup  that  else  my  thirst  might  slake. 
I  cannot  move,  nor  see  my  mirrored  face, 
Nor  hear  my  step,  but  thee  meet  everywhere. 
Who  art  thou?     Whence  dost  come,   and 

where  reside? 

For  what  was  thy  creation?  Thyself  declare! 
Art  devil,  spirit  of  man  or  God  himself? 
And  what  for  this  offence  dost  thou  require 
From  hand  of  mine?     Whatever  it  is,  that 

take; 

212 


THE  EDGE  OF  THE  CLIFF 

Take  all  I  have,  all  I  to  gain  aspire, 

And    leave    me    shelterless,    in    rags    and 

starved ; 

I'll  court  such  fate,  if  thou  wilt  only  go. 
Consuming  fire  that  burns  within,  to  parch 
My  tongue  and  stop  the  blood  within  my 

heart; 
Thou  poisoned  arrow  piercing  through  my 

soul; 
Thou     lightning     fierce    and     sharp     that 

comes  athwart 
My   being;    whip    and    rod    that    make   me 

smart ; 
Thou  mountain  mass  that  grinds  me  down 

to  dust; 
All  these  and  more,  thou  terror,  Oh,  depart ! 


213 


Women  in  Business  as  Affecting 
Health  and  Morals 


Women  in  Business  as  Affecting 
Health  and  Morals* 


The  entry  into  business  pursuits  in  this 
country  during  the  last  few  decades,  of  a 
large  number  of  women,  has  changed  to 
some  degree  several  of  the  social  and 
economic  equations.  The  rush  of  women 
into  professional  life  has  changed  profes 
sional  equations,  but  that  does  not  enter 
into  this  discussion.  Some  women  have 
taken  the  places  of  men  in  business  pursuits, 
compelling  the  latter  to  seek  other  and  often 
less  convenient  occupations.  Some  of  these 
men  have  unfairly  complained  of  the  unfair 
ness  of  their  situation.  The  women  have 
generally  worked  for  lower  wages  than  men 
did  and  do,  in  similar  lines  of  work.  This 
has  tended  to  turn  men  out  of  such  positions 
as  smart  women  can  fill.  The  men  have 
thus,  so  far,  overcrowded  the  occupations 
they  have  gone  to,  or  they  have  had  to 

*Reprinted  from  the  Bulletin  of  the  American  Academy  of 
Medicine,  October,  1908. 

217 


WOMEN  IN  BUSINESS  AS  AFFECTING 

create  still  other  occupations  wherewith  to 
keep  their  hands  busy.  The  women  have 
been  perhaps  less  constant  as  employes 
than  men  are ;  if  they  marry  they  usually 
leave  their  business  situations,  as  they  ought 
to.  This  accounts  in  part  for  their  lower 
wages. 

In  the  past  few  years  a  great  deal  of  dis 
cussion  has  occurred  as  to  the  influence  pro 
duced  upon  the  women  themselves  and  upon 
society  at  large,  by  so  large  a  number  of 
them  forsaking  domestic  life  for  business 
pursuits.  Apprehension  has  been  felt  for 
the  health  and  morals  of  the  business 
woman  and  for  those  of  society  as  influ 
enced  by  her  business  life.  Is  her  health 
impaired,  and  so  the  health  of  her  children 
if  she  comes  to  have  any,  and  does  her  occu 
pation  tend  to  undermine  her  own  moral 
integrity  or  to  harm  society?  We  are  told 
that  these  women  rarely  become  home- 
makers,  and  mothers,  and  that  the  birth-rate 
of  their  classes  of  the  community  tends  to 
fall  below  their  death-rate,  and  that  there 
fore  their  families  are  running  out  and  will 
eventually  be  gone. 

It  is  true  that  a  large  proportion  of  busi 
ness  women  never  marry,  or  marry  late  in 
life,  and  so,  for  a  part  of  their  lives  at  least, 
are  taken  out  of  the  home-making  and  child- 
bearing  classes.  For  the  weal  of  the  race  or 

218 


HEALTH  AND  MORALS 

the  particular  social  group,  this  may  be  a 
misfortune.  It  is  easy  to  argue  and  it  seems 
a  truism,  and  from  some  points  of  view  it 
is  a  truism,  that  every  woman  should  marry 
and  make  a  home.  But  this  is  in  the  first 
place  manifestly  impossible  and  in  the 
second  place  it  is  the  woman's  own  affair. 
The  trend  of  modern  civilization  is  toward 
more  individualism  and  more  personal 
liberty  of  action  for  all  people,  women  and 
men  and  children  alike.  The  time  is  past 
when  the  woman  can  be  made  to  sink  what 
she  regards  as  her  own  personal  interest  for 
that  of  her  race.  Whether  or  not  it  is  finally 
right  or  wrong,  she  will  act  mostly  for  her 
own  personal  interest  as  she  understands  it, 
if  she  can ;  and  it  is  hard  to  argue  against 
her  right  to  do  so.  Her  rights  and  preroga 
tives  are  self-evident  in  the  light  of  modern 
standards.  It  may  be  that,  averaging  the 
sex,  the  woman's  own  best  interest  is  iden 
tical  with  that  of  the  race,  but  she  will  not 
always  of  herself  see  it  so  or  be  convinced 
of  it. 

A  business  experience  for  a  woman  does 
not  unfit  her  for  domestic  life,  but  usually 
makes  her  take  to  it  with  more  zest  if  she 
has  a  good  chance.  Nor  does  she  prove  a 
less  useful  housekeeper  or  a  less  wholesome 
mother.  She  probably  less  often  is  a  mother 
and  less  repeatedly  one,  than  if  she  marries 

219 


WOMEN  IN  BUSINESS  AS  AFFECTING 

earlier.  Her  business  experience  certainly 
enhances  her  power  and  efficiency  as  a  use 
ful  social  unit  in  the  community  where  she 
lives;  and  this  is  a  gain  of  some  value  for 
society. 

It  is  said  that  women  by  a  life  of  business 
lose  the  opportunity  and  shirk  the  duty  of 
perpetuating  their  own  families.  This  is  all 
true,  but  society  has  small  reason  to  com 
plain.  The  same  thing  happens  to  married 
women  of  luxury  and  social  indulgences ; 
their  families  are  running  out  too,  and  their 
places  are  being  taken  by  lowlier  families 
that  are  coming  up  with  more  numerous 
children — the  very  best  material  for  citizen 
ship.  Thus  the  single  business  woman  al 
ways,  and  the  pampered  rich  married 
woman  often,  contribute  to  the  same  social 
result — a  result  that  is  not  good  for  the  race. 
And  for  this  offense  the  business  woman 
is  much  less  to  be  blamed  than  the  married 
woman  referred  to.  That  it  is  most  natural 
for  every  woman  to  marry  is  true.  The  race 
interests  are  thus  best  subserved ;  health  in 
terests  are  also  subserved  by  it,  since  it  is  a 
fact  that  those  women  are  least  sick  and  live 
longest  who,  well  after  their  youth,  marry, 
and  who  bear  children  not  too  often. 

Business  work  occasionally  reduces  the 
vitality  of  the  woman  and  leads  to  some 
actual  disease,  but  this  is  not  common 

220 


HEALTH  AND  MORALS 

unless  she  works  for  very  low  wages  and 
under  depressing  conditions,  for  while  she 
is  working  she  is  usually  better  satisfied 
than  with  idleness.  Idleness  and  useless- 
ness  are  to  a  sensible  woman  the  most  de 
moralizing  of  influences.  I  have  known 
many  women  to  take  up  some  occupation 
not  because  they  needed  work,  but  solely  to 
escape  these  conditions.  Reckoning  all 
women  who  work  in  business  outside  their 
homes,  or  in  their  homes  upon  non-domestic 
work  taken  in,  I  am  sure  that  most  of  them 
work  because  they  have  to  earn  their  living, 
or  believe  they  do ;  and  a  numerical  majority 
of  them  work  for  low  wages,  work  too  long 
hours  daily,  and  under  conditions  of  bad 
hygiene.  Many  of  these  women  break  down 
and  become  chronic  invalids  or  die.  The 
bad  air,  the  confinement  of  their  work,  the 
lack  of  variation  in  muscular  activity  and 
general  exercise,  and  the  depressing  moral 
influences,  are  too  much  for  their  frail  pow 
ers,  and  they  go  to  the  wall. 

One  of  the  dangers  to  which  unmarried 
women,  who  are  not  overworked,  are  ex 
posed  is  the  tendency  to  become  eccentric, 
whimsical,  casuistic  and  cranky  as  the  years 
pass.  So  great  is  this  tendency  that  some 
students  of  the  subject  contend  that  every 
woman  should  marry  even  if  she  makes  a 
foolish  marriage,  so  as  to  prevent  the  calam- 

221 


WOMEN  IN  BUSINESS  AS  AFFECTING 

ity  referred  to.  A  single  woman  of  forty 
or  over  who  has  kept  her  poise  and  sense  of 
proportion  is  a  very  superior,  if  a  very  rare 
person.  One  of  the  best  antidotes  to  this 
warping  tendency — beside  matrimony — is 
for  her  to  have  some  steady  work  in  busi 
ness,  with  both  men  and  women  associates. 

We  are  told  that  a  woman  in  a  business 
situation,  especially  when  working  with 
men  and  women  associates,  tends  to  lose 
some  of  her  feminine  charm  and  innocency, 
and  that  she  is  likely  to  become  bold  and 
mannish.  But  boldness  is  a  matter  of  tem 
perament  and  native  tendency;  it  is  not 
largely  made  by  working  or  not  working. 
If  the  work  tends  in  either  direction  it  is 
toward  less  boldness.  As  to  the  charm  and 
innocency,  business  occupation  does  not  im 
pair  either,  unless  you  mean  by  these  words 
ignorance  and  uselessness.  Such  is  the  real 
meaning  often  carried  by  these  terms. 

We  are  told  that  a  business  life  for 
women  tends  to  immorality.  As  a  general 
proposition  it  is  not  true.  The  business 
woman,  especially  in  the  higher  classes  of 
work,  is  less  likely  to  go  wrong  than  her 
idle  sister.  She  learns  the  realities  of  life 
and  the  dangers  that  beset  the  career  of 
women — learns  them  better  by  the  very 
working.  She  can  take  better  care  of  herself 
under  temptation  and  danger,  is  more  to  be 

222 


HEALTH  AND  MORALS 

trusted,  and  she  has  more  essential  refine 
ment,  than  the  idle  woman  of  the  same  class 
who  always  hovers  within  the  protecting 
shadow  of  her  home. 

A  few  women  on  starvation  wages  go 
wrong,  largely  in  consequence  of  this  factor 
— possibly  a  few  more  than  would  fall  if 
they  were  not  so  employed.  Many  of  these 
are  girls  who,  if  they  would  wisely  take 
domestic  service  instead  of  some  grinding 
clerkships,  could  have  an  easy  and  wholly 
reputable  life  and  be  able  to  lay  up  money. 
There  is  a  fad  that  is  as  prevalent  as  it  is 
foolish,  to  the  effect  that  "business"  life 
even  if  at  starvation  wages  is  far  better  than 
a  "work"  life  with  less  physical  and  mental 
fatigue,  and  more  comforts  and  money.  It 
is  distinctly  an  unmoral  if  not  an  immoral 
tendency.  This  is  the  direction  in  which  the 
greatest  harm  comes  of  women  working  in 
business  pursuits;  and  it  cannot  be  denied 
that  here  is  a  menace  to  the  best  interest  of 
society  as  well  as  to  the  health  and  char 
acter  of  these  workers.  A  foolish  feeling  of 
cast,  a  fashion,  has  developed ;  really,  it  al 
ways  existed  but  seems  lately  to  have  be 
come  exaggerated.  The  girl  clerk  is  socially 
above  the  cook  and  second  girl,  although  she 
is  half  as  fortunate  in  every  other  particular 
— in  wages,  physical  labor,  social  protection, 

223 


WOMEN  IN  BUSINESS  AS  AFFECTING 

and  all  general  comforts,  except  the  com 
fort  of  her  pride. 

While  this  prejudice  does  incalculable 
injury  to  the  unfortunate  girls  themselves, 
there  is  little  ground  for  hope  that  it  will 
disappear,  so  foolish  are  people  whenever 
their  pride — even  their  foolish  pride — is 
touched.  A  young  man  will  gladly  begin  his 
career  by  working  on  a  farm  or  in  a  shop, 
covered  with  grime  and  doing  the  meanest 
sort  of  work.  He  will  not  lose  cast  or  suf 
fer  in  pride — indeed  he  may  be  very  proud 
of  his  exploit.  But  ask  the  young  woman 
to  begin  in  a  kitchen  and  she  will  spurn 
you  and  take  a  cheap  clerkship  at  less  wages 
than  it  costs  to  board  her.  And  she  is  deaf 
to  all  arguments  against  her  decision. 

The  sense  of  independence  and  self-re 
liance  that  comes  of  the  experiences  of  a 
business  life,  saves  for  character  many 
women  who  would  otherwise  be  lost  by 
ignorance  and  idleness.  These,  I  believe, 
much  more  than  outnumber  the  other  class 
— those  who  go  wrong  because  of  the  bad 
temptations  of  their  work. 

But  there  are  yet  other  disadvantages  to 
the  women  themselves  as  well  as  to  society, 
from  their  business  experience.  Some  of 
them  who  are  smart  and  not  overworked, 
develop  a  degree  of  independence  that  some 
times  amounts  to  a  misfortune.  The  girl 

224 


HEALTH  AND  MORALS 

who  lives  at  home  and  does  not  pay  for  her 
board,  who  uses  all  her  earnings  for  pin 
money  when  her  parents  are  quite  able  to 
give  this  to  her,  but  who  is  too  haughty  to 
ask  for  it,  and  prefers  to  work  and  earn  it 
herself,  is  sometimes  one  of  this  class.  By 
working  she  perhaps  escapes  some  domestic 
and  social  duties,  and  she  likes  the  excite 
ment  and  novelty  of  business — it  is  such  a 
variation  from  the  humdrum  of  home.  She 
is  developing  egoism  and  selfishness  rather 
than  grace — and  she  is  ignorant  of  this  fact. 
The  enjoyment  of  such  freedom  leads  many 
women  in  the  aggregate  to  fail  to  accept 
good  opportunities  for  marriage  and  a 
larger  career  when  these  are  offered.  In 
business  life  the  girl  dresses  well  if  she  can 
afford  it,  spends  considerable  money  upon 
herself  and  so  her  demand  for  finery  grows ; 
likewise,  the  list  of  eligible  husbands  within 
her  reach  grows  less,  for,  to  her,  eligibility 
means  good  salaries  or  fortunes  as  well  as 
personal  fitness — personal  fitness  of  the 
angelic  sort.  Charmed  by  present  inde 
pendence  and  the  luxuries  that  she  can  com 
mand,  she  rarely  accumulates  money  (which 
would  be  good  business),  and  she  forgets 
that  some  day  she  may  cease  to  earn,  and 
so  she  often  misses  those  larger  and  more 
permanent  joys  that  she  is  entitled  to.  This 
is  her  moral  loss — to  say  nothing  of  her 

225 


WOMEN  IN  BUSINESS  AS  AFFECTING 

acquisition  of  some  self-centered  selfishness 
in  exchange  for  the  wholesome  unselfishness 
with  which  she  started  out. 

The  restraints  which  society  places  upon 
the  activities  and  conduct  of  women  is  gall 
ing  to  many  of  them.  Perhaps  to  most 
women  these  restraints  are  balanced  by 
their  sense  of  protection  and  their  safety  in 
their  domestic  life,  their  homes  and  children. 
They  easily  adjust  themselves  to  their  sit 
uation  ;  they  know  that  society  places  no 
such  restrictions  upon  men,  but  as  men  earn 
most  of  the  money  and  are  stronger  and 
useful  to  lean  upon,  these  women  do  not 
complain.  Moreover,  the  laws  of  many 
states  give  women  large  pecuniary  and  other 
advantages  based  solely  on  sex,  and  on  the 
theory  that  the  female  sex  is  the  weaker  of 
the  two  and  needs  protection. 

But  some  women  do  complain,  even  rebel 
against  their  restrictions.  They  glory  in  any 
attitude  of  independence  that  is  not  perilous 
to  their  good  name.  They  hate  chaperon- 
age  and  the  restraints  of  dress,  even  while 
they  try  to  follow  the  changing  fashions 
in  clothes.  They  hate  to  be  always  "proper." 
They  preach  woman's  rights,  and  delight  in 
dressing  themselves  as  men.  Some  of  them 
freely  wish  they  were  men,  and  occasionally 
one  adopts  man's  clothes,  seeks  masculine 

226 


HEALTH  AND  MORALS 

employment,    and    for    months    and    years 
keeps  the  world  in  ignorance  of  her  sex. 

A  business  life  increases  this  sense  of  re 
bellion  in  a  considerable  number  of  women, 
and  so  far  its  influence  is  positively  bad ; 
for  the  increase  in  rebellion  fails  to  bring 
compensating  joys  to  the  individual — it 
lessens  her  happiness  and  good  health,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  reflected  injury  to  the 
community.  Women  mostly  range  them 
selves  into  two  cardinal  and  major  classes: 
those  who  wish  for  domestic  life,  for  home 
and  children ;  and  those  whose  tastes  run 
toward  independence  and  a  business  or  pro 
fessional  career.  Some  of  the  first  class 
(which  is  vastly  the  larger  one)  are  obliged 
to  go  into  business  but  are  always  ready  to 
abandon  it  for  a  wholesome  domestic  life. 
Some  of  the  second  class  accept  domestic 
life  without  seeking  it ;  being  rather  enticed 
into  it  they  nevertheless  make  good  homes, 
and  they  like  this  life  better  than  they  did 
the  struggle  of  business.  They  are  generally 
surprised  to  find  vastly  more  happiness  in 
their  homes  than  they  had  expected.  This 
is  the  case  of  the  woman  coming  to  her  own. 
The  change  is  toward  more  unselfishness 
and  more  pleasure  of  the  higher  sort — for 
the  larger  joys,  and  the  most  enduring,  are 
fostered  by  unselfishness  and  close  con 
genial  fellowships,  by  mutualness  in  work 
and  gains,  in  privations  and  sorrows. 
227 


Commencement  Address 


Commencement  Address* 


The  ceremonial  of  commencement  day  is 
peculiarly  an  American  institution ;  the  mu 
sic,  the  speeches,  the  formal  presentation  of 
diplomas,  and  the  flowers  we  accentuate  to 
the  utmost.  \Ve  do  this  at  all  stages  of  our 
educational  life,  even  to  our  final  degrees 
from  a  university  (if  we  are  so  fortunate  as 
to  get  them). 

In  European  countries  the  universities 
have  nothing  of  this  sort.  If  they  have  a 
formal  commencement  for  the  children  and 
the  youths,  the  universities  disdain  it  as 
something  adapted  to  childhood  but  not  for 
men.  The  American  way  is  the  better; 
graduation  is  a  distinct  epoch  in  our  lives; 
we  reckon  time  as  before  or  after  we  were 
graduated.  Then  it  does  us  good  to  throw 
off  care,  put  on  our  good  clothes,  and  give 
thanks  that  we  have  reached  one  goal  at 
least.  Especially  may  we  felicitate  our- 


*Training     School     for     Nurses,     Hospital     of     the     Good 
Samaritan,  Los  Angeles,  July  24,   1907. 

231 


COMMENCEMENT  ADDRESS 

selves  if  we  believe  that  by  our  graduation 
we  have  taken  on  the  mantle  of  a  profession. 

But  this  day  is  fittingly  also  a  reviewing 
time,  a  time  to  stop,  take  breath,  and  make 
a  new  orientation,  to  the  end  that  we  may, 
if  possible,  know  exactly  where  we  stand. 
Yesterday  was  a  day  of  studentship  and 
struggle  for  a  diploma;  and  rest  from  a  lot 
of  drudgery.  Tomorrow  new  duties  will  be 
upon  us,  and  some  sort  of  a  yoke,  hard  or 
soft,  for  our  necks,  that  cannot  be  shaken 
off.  Nothing  stops  or  stands  still;  on  this 
day  we  seem  to  have  arrived  somewhere. 
To  what  issue  have  we  come?  What  have 
we  really  accomplished?  Could  we  have 
done  better,  and  are  those  who  come  after 
us  likely  to  find  a  better  way? 

As  you  enter  the  guild  of  trained  nurses 
you  can  truthfully  say  that  some  things 
have  been  accomplished.  They  have  been 
done  by  those  who  have  preceded  you,  and 
they  have  been  done,  perhaps,  as  well  as 
was  possible  under  the  circumstances.  Let 
me  mention  a  few  of  them. 

The  trained  nurses  of  today  have  attained 
professional  rank.  A  profession  is  made  by 
education  in  a  science  and  art  whose  appli 
cation  to  the  problems  of  life  requires  ex 
pert  skill  and  judgment.  Eliminate  the  last 
condition,  and  take  the  science  away  from 
the  art,  and  you  have  merely  a  trade.  The 
232 


COMMENCEMENT  ADDRESS 

training  schools  left  that  state  of  things  be 
hind  more  than  a  decade  ago.  Fairly  and 
honestly,  you  are  a  profession. 

Your  ranks  are  showing  the  results  of 
more  drill  and  better  education.  The  best 
schools  now  require  as  a  condition  of  admis 
sion  to  their  classes  a  high-school  diploma 
or  some  college  work ;  three  years  of  train 
ing  are  necessary  for  graduation ;  and  a  part 
of  the  training  must  be  in  laboratories 
wherein  the  sciences  that  concern  the  nurse's 
work  are  taught  practically.  This  has  been 
accomplished  by  several  logical  steps  of 
progress  during  the  last  quarter  century. 
Some  day  an  American  university  may  have 
a  nurses'  college  as  now  our  universities 
have  medical,  law,  and  engineering  colleges. 
It  is  logical  to  expect  this  some  time  within 
a  decade  or  two.  While  we  wait  for  its 
coming  let  us  make  it  hasten  by  bringing 
the  work  of  the  schools  up  to  university 
standard.  I  think  even  now  the  time  has 
come  for  the  best  schools  to  drop  the  name 
"training  school"  and  use  the  word  "col 
lege." 

Your  guild  has  earned  the  respect  of  the 
community  and  of  the  profession  of  medi 
cine.  A  diploma  from  a  training  school  of 
high  grade  is  more  than  evidence — it  is 
proof  of  personal  superiority,  of  culture  and 
of  high  character,  as  well  as  professional 

233 


COMMENCEMENT  ADDRESS 

skill.  You  have  risen  to  dignity,  some  of 
you  are  even  regarded  by  many  of  us  as 
almost  a  part  of  the  profession  of  medicine. 
You  are  surely  invaluable  to  the  medical 
profession,  and  are  a  large  factor  in  the  sav 
ing  and  preservation  of  human  life. 

The  training  schools  and  their  graduates 
have  created  a  new  and  nobler  sphere  for 
woman's  activities  and  usefulness.  They 
have  elevated  the  standing  of  woman  in  the 
minds  of  the  best  people  the  enlightened 
world  over.  Society  has  learned  through 
them  that  women  can  do  more  things,  have 
more  responsibilities  and  acquit  themselves 
well;  can  be  trusted  farther,  can  even  be 
trusted  to  take  care  of  themselves  without 
chaperones.  The  prolongation  of  human 
life,  the  lengthening  of  the  generations  of 
mankind,  as  shown  by  the  statistics,  are 
without  doubt  due  in  some  measure  to  the 
work  of  the  trained  nurses,  and  you  may 
fairly  insist  on  this  claim. 

The  achievements  so  far  made  promise 
others  to  come,  and  they  doubtless  will 
come.  But  large  duties  rest  upon  you 
on  account  of  this  promise,  for  the  new 
nurses  must  be  better  educated,  and  must 
be  women  stronger  in  every  way  for  educa 
tion  and  for  higher  duties.  The  older  nurses 
must  study  to  keep  up  with  their  profession. 
They  must  read  new  books,  take  their  pro- 

234 


COMMENCEMENT  ADDRESS 

fessional  journals  and  study  them,  and  keep 
in  touch  with  the  new  scientific  facts  that 
are  involved  in  the  profession  of  nursing. 

There  must  be  more  of  the  spirit  profes 
sional.  Every  graduate  is  to  some  degree 
the  custodian  of  the  reputation  of  the  pro 
fession.  This  must  be  raised,  it  must  never 
be  permitted  to  fall.  A  true  professional 
spirit  compels  us  to  do  two  things  always: 
to  stand  up  for  the  rights,  dignity  and 
emoluments  of  the  profession ;  and  to  culti 
vate  in  ourselves  perfection  in  its  science 
and  art.  It  is,  to  our  shame,  a  humanish 
weakness  to  neglect  the  latter. 

Nurses  must  observe  an  increasingly  high 
order  of  professional  ethics.  There  are  cer 
tain  things  that  we  are  tempted  to  do,  which 
we  are  often  guilty  of,  but  which  nurses 
ought  to  shun  as  a  mortal  sin.  These  things 
are  mostly  offences  of  the  tongue — and  we 
are  told  that  a  woman's  tongue  is,  if  possible, 
as  reckless  as  that  of  a  man.  You  have  a 
duty  to  each  other,  a  duty  to  the  patients 
and  their  families,  and  a  duty  to  the  profes 
sion  of  medicine  on  which  you  must  rely ; 
and  these  duties  are  as  sacred  as  religion. 
Each  nurse  would  probably  define  these 
duties  a  little  differently  from  every  other 
one.  It  must  be  a  matter  of  conscience  with 
each.  But  the  guiding  principle  for  conduct 
to  each  one  is,  and  must  be  through  all 

235 


COMMENCEMENT  ADDRESS 

time,  to  bring  comfort  and  good,  and  only 
these,  to  the  patient,  to  his  family,  to  the 
nursing  profession,  to  the  public  at  large, 
and  to  the  patron  profession  of  medicine. 

No  small  part  of  this  ethical  ambition  is 
to  acquire  the  habit  of  patience  with  the 
weak,  and  a  power  of  mental  impertur 
bability  under  difficulties.  Another  part  of  it 
is  for  the  nurse  to  learn  the  great  art  of 
adaptability,  the  knack  of  getting  along  with 
people,  and  doing  it  without  friction  on 
either  side.  To  accomplish  this  means  to 
submerge  our  unworthy  and  needless  con 
ceits,  in  a  spirit  of  helpfulness  to  others, 
that  shall  be  free  from  every  shade  of  self 
ishness.  And  this  means  to  many  of  us  an 
almost  complete  metamorphosis  of  our  emo 
tional  natures. 

I  make  no  doubt  that  the  class  here  pres 
ent  is  a  company  of  very  remarkable  young 
women.  It  must  be  unnecessary  to  say 
much  to  them  about  their  special  needs  at 
this  time,  with  their  heads  full  of  the  lore  of 
the  last  three  years,  and  their  spirits  full  of 
the  glamour  of  this  occasion  and  the  value 
of  these  diplomas.  Maybe  it  is  safer  for  me 
to  make  this  observation  because  I  know 
them  personally  so  little. 

But  it  will  profit  you  to  remember  that 
you  still  dwell  on  the  earth,  and  that  tomor 
row  or  some  early  morrow  will  open  with 

236 


COMMENCEMENT  ADDRESS 

new  and  severe  duties  for  you  all.  As  you 
have  been  well  taught  through  three  years 
of  wholesome  lives  of  hard  work,  it  be 
hooves  you  to  continue  to  be  wholesome. 
Don't  gossip  about  your  patients,  not  even 
with  other  nurses;  it  is  womanish  but  dis 
creditable  to  do  so.  Remember  that  the  lives 
and  secrets  of  the  sick  that  come  to  you  in 
the  line  of  your  professional  services  are 
absolutely  inviolable,  and  that  for  you  to 
divulge  them  to  anybody,  unless  demanded 
for  the  good  of  the  sick,  is  disloyalty. 

Do  not  have  too  much  dignity  and  too 
many  projecting  elbows  to  be  hurt  by  the 
often  blundering  well  people  who  hover 
about  the  beds  of  the  sick,  and  by  irrespon 
sible  invalids.  Neither  of  these  classes  is 
always  responsible,  and  both  are  liable  to  be 
at  any  moment  in  a  condition  of  hyperes- 
thesia  and  unreasonableness,  and  greatly 
in  need  of  your  patience  and  forbearance. 
When  you  are  off  duty  stand  on  your  dig 
nity,  and  remember  that  you  are  a  woman 
and  that  you  cannot  afford  to  do  or  say  un 
womanly  things. 

Fill  your  minds  with  new  professional  lore 
if  you  can,  to  the  end  that  you  may  be  more 
expert  and  useful.  Then  engage  your  minds 
with  the  best  talk  and  the  best  books  for  a 
superb  and  healthful  woman  to  have.  Study 
to  be  wise  more  than  learned.  Do  not  get 

237 


COMMENCEMENT  ADDRESS 

cross  and  leave  a  case  because  the  patient 
refuses  to  obey  the  doctor  and  you ;  both  the 
doctor  and  you  might  be  extremists  and 
rather  academic  in  some  of  your  rules  and 
demands.  Remember  that  the  patient  and 
his  friends  have  some  rights  as  citizens. 
There  is  no  Procrustean  bed  for  you  to  use 
in  the  care  of  the  sick ;  you  cannot  make  all 
sick  people  fit  your  rules.  You  are  to  help 
heal  and  comfort  the  sick,  not  to  discipline 
them.  Well  people  may  be  disciplined  some 
times,  but  very  rarely  the  sick,  and  these 
never  in  anger.  And  if  the  patient  needs 
discipline,  he  himself  and  his  friends  are  the 
natural  instruments  to  this  end ;  if  you  at 
tempt  it,  it  must  be  with  a  hand  of  velvet. 
Remember,  when  by  your  forbearance  and 
self-control  in  an  exasperating  situation,  you 
have  shamed  a  vexatious  patient  into  con 
trition  and  gentleness,  that  you  have  trans 
figured  the  two  chief  actors  in  that  drama: 
you  have  shown  that  you  can  be  truly  great, 
and  you  are  the  mistress  of  your  soul.  More 
over,  you  have  taught  the  patient  the  won 
derful  lesson  that  he  can  discipline  himself, 
even  when  he  is  sick.  So  you  have  helped 
him  to  a  symptom  of  superiority. 

The  rules  for  nursing  that  you  have 
learned  in  your  hospital  may  be  the  best  in 
all  the  world,  especially  when  they  are  sup 
plemented  by  the  superior  doctors  whom  I 

238 


COMMENCEMENT  ADDRESS 

hope  you  may  always  work  with ;  but  many 
of  them  are  general  rules  and  must  some 
times  yield.  Like  good  soldiers,  you  must 
obey  orders  and  follow  the  rules  in  general, 
but  it  is  a  brave  and  a  good  lieutenant  who 
knows  when  to  violate  a  rule  for  the  good  of 
the  service,  and  that  sort  of  an  one  you 
must  become.  The  rules  of  the  doctor  must 
be  executed  with  common  sense,  and  he 
cannot  hope  to  tell  you  of  all  the  possible 
exceptions  that  may  arise,  and  that  a  woman 
with  sense  and  wit  will  know  how  to  deal 
with ;  he  expects  you  to  use  your  thought 
and  judgment  as  well  as  your  memory.  I 
have  known  a  nurse  to  wrangle  with  a  pa 
tient  for  an  hour  trying  to  induce  him  to 
take  his  pill  after  his  meal  as  it  had  been 
ordered,  when  he  insisted  on  taking  it  in  the 
midst  of  the  meal,  because  he  had  discov 
ered  that  when  taken  after  the  meal  it  was 
apt  to  stick  in  the  lower  part  of  the  throat. 
She  was  a  machine ;  you,  please,  be  some 
thing  better  than  a  machine. 

Do  not  try  to  be  doctors ;  don't  prescribe 
for,  but  nurse  the  sick ;  learn  to  say  that  you 
don't  know;  do  not  try  to  answer  the  thou 
sand  questions  that  patients  put  to  you 
about  the  nature  of  their  diseases  and  the 
philosophy  of  their  symptoms.  You  cannot 
do  it,  and  to  try  is  likely  to  cause  you  trou 
ble.  I  have  known  a  nurse  who  tried  to 

239 


COMMENCEMENT  ADDRESS 

answer  the  most  abstruse  questions  in  medi 
cine  and  philosophy  because  a  patient  asked 
them ;  questions  which  later  being  put  to  the 
attending  physician,  he  was  obliged  to  say 
belonged  to  the  realm  of  the  unknown,  and 
that  he  would  not  guess.  The  nurse  had 
guessed  at  the  answers,  and  was  now  prop 
erly  humiliated. 

I  know  the  temptation  of  the  nurse  is  to 
treat  the  invalid  as  she  wrongly  treats  a 
child,  whose  questions  she  thinks  are  to  be 
answered  in  a  way  that  will  satisfy  the  in 
quirer  for  the  moment.  But  many  of  the 
patients  are  mentally  keen,  their  minds  are 
not  befogged  and  they  have  memories;  and 
it  is  a  calamity  for  a  nurse  to  discover 
that  her  mistake  in  pretending  to  knowledge 
which  she  does  not  possess,  has  covered  her 
with  shame.  There  is  no  reason  for  such 
humiliation,  since  there  is  no  occasion  for 
such  officiousness.  She  always  has  this  ref 
uge  for  a  vexatious  question :  she  can  any 
time  say,  "I  don't  know/'  or  "That  is  not  a 
nurse's  but  a  doctor's  question.  Please  ask 
your  physician  about  it."  Let  her  hide  be 
hind  this  bulwark  and  then  watch  the  doctor 
as  he  squirms  in  his  attempt  to  answer  logic 
ally  and  scientifically  the  patient's  question. 

Don't  comment  on  the  wisdom  or  unwis 
dom  of  the  doctor's  treatment;  or  on  the 
comparative  merits  of  different  doctors.  Of 

240 


COMMENCEMENT  ADDRESS 

course,  you  will  have  your  ideas  on  these 
matters,  for  you  are  not  made  of  wood ;  but 
you  must  think  such  thoughts  inside  your 
head,  never  aloud  in  the  home  of  the  sick, 
save  under  the  most  exceptional  circum 
stances. 

On  the  other  hand,  you  will  understand 
that  it  is  due  to  you  that  the  attitude  of  the 
doctor  toward  you  shall  be  one  of  candor, 
kindness,  loyalty,  and  dignity.  If  he  has 
been  snappish  to  you  or  disparaged  you  to 
the  patient  or  the  family,  or  failed  to  sup 
port  you  fairly  in  a  case,  you  are  at  liberty 
to  shame  him  by  asking  if  he  really  thinks 
he  has  treated  you,  his  assistant,  fairly.  But 
if  you  do  this  it  must  be  done  as  a  dignified 
woman  speaks,  and  always  by  the  rules  of 
the  court  of  chancery — you  must  come  with 
clean  hands,  you  must  have  been  yourself 
loyal  and  true  to  the  patient  and  the  doctor. 
You  cannot  expect  justice  unless  you  have 
done  justice. 

Have  recreations  outside  of  your  profes 
sional  duties,  and  let  them  be  such  as  will 
make  you  stronger  and  healthier,  and  none 
the  less  a  woman.  Have  outdoor  exercise 
every  day,  even  when  you  are  closely  tied 
to  a  case.  If  you  have  but  five  minutes  a 
day,  take  it  to  run  around  the  block ;  don't 
be  shocked  if  I  say  that — I  mean  run,  not 
walk;  and  swing  your  arms  widely  as  you 

241 


COMMENCEMENT  ADDRESS 

go.  What  would  the  neighbors  say  at  such 
a  performance !  They  would  probably  say 
you  were  an  efficient  nurse,  with  independ 
ence  enough  not  to  be  foolish.  Only  narrow 
women  would  disparage  you,  and  every  com 
mendable  man  would  admire  you  for  it.  Do 
not  get  cranky — a  cranky  woman  for  a  nurse 
is  a  constant  menace ;  she  needs  to  nurse 
herself  into  a  better  spirit,  or,  that  failing, 
to  enter  a  convent.  Outdoor  life,  exercise, 
good  digestion,  good  blood,  long  hours  in 
bed  when  off  duty,  wholesome  foods  and  no 
stimulants — these  are  enemies  of  crankiness. 
Strength,  poise,  calmness  and  a  sense  of  hu 
mor — these  make  for  power  and  good  work 
in  every  exacting  profession. 

While  most  of  your  patients  will  recover, 
some  of  them  inevitably  will  die,  and  you 
are  not  called  upon  to  regard  a  death  as  a 
reflection  upon  the  excellence  of  your  care. 
You  do  not  contract  that  the  patient  shall 
recover,  but  you  do  undertake  that  in  your 
particular  ministrations  to  him  you  shall  be 
efficiency  itself — beyond  that  the  doctor  (if 
any  finite  being)  takes  the  responsibility. 
Life  is  too  full  of  responsibilities  for  you  to 
take  any  that  belong  to  others — see  that  you 
do  not  usurp  to  your  loss  those  that  belong 
to  the  physician.  It  is  a  pathetic  truth  that 
many  of  the  best  women  are  most  likely  to 
take  upon  themselves  these  uncalled  for  bur- 

242 


COMMENCEMENT  ADDRESS 

dens.  For  this  tragedy  I  pray  that  there 
may  be  some  compensation  in  the  great  here 
after,  for  there  seems  to  be  scant  recom 
pense  in  this  life. 

Remember  that  flowers  are  always  beauti 
ful,  that  artistic  things  ought  to  be  comfort 
ing  to  the  soul,  and  that  it  is  the  ministry  of 
music  to  lull  the  restless  spirit,  and  to  brush 
away  the  cares  of  its  day,  and  carry  it  to  a 
higher  level.  Try  to  cultivate  the  spirit  of 
these  influences.  And  if  you  do  not  have  it 
already — and  if  you  cannot  have  it  God  pity 
you — then  cultivate  a  love  for. babies  and 
children ;  they  are  the  men  and  women  of  to 
morrow,  and  in  their  growth  and  develop 
ment  you  have  the  most  profitable,  interest 
ing  and  joyous  study  in  all  the  world. 

In  the  time  when  the  older  of  this  class 
were  in  their  cradles  and  playing  with  their 
toes — a  very  long  time  to  them,  perhaps,  but 
only  a  moment  in  human  history — it  was 
just  dawning  on  our  minds  that  when  people 
are  sick  they  deserve  to  be  nursed  by  expert 
hands.  Theretofore,  and  to  a  large  degree 
since  then,  the  best  nurses  were  the  nearest 
of  kin  to  the  patients;  the  next  best  were 
the  so-called  professional  nurses  who  were 
largely  self-taught  and  supposed  to  be  good 
nurses  by  instinct.  Neither  class  was  satis 
factory;  the  near  kin  were,  in  severe  cases, 
too  anxious  and  irresponsible,  and  often  got 

243 


COMMENCEMENT  ADDRESS 

so  worn  out  by  watching  as  to  be  useless; 
and  the  monthly  nurse  was,  while  often  ex 
cellent,  often  ruled  by  numerous  whims  and 
myths  which  she  inflicted  on  the  sick. 

Then  it  was  that  the  first  halting  steps 
were  made  to  train  women  for  nurses.  Quick 
ly  the  training  schools  developed,  touched 
as  they  were  and  could  not  fail  to  be,  by  the 
growing  light  of  modern  pedagogy  and  mod 
ern  medicine.  With  the  genuine  educational 
movement  the  training  schools  had  to  ad 
vance,  and  they  had  to  come  up  to  the  high 
standard  they  have  now  attained. 

But  why  are  there  not  training  schools 
for  men  as  well  as  women?  The  attempt 
was  made,  but  we  now  never  hear  of  them, 
while  there  is  a  flourishing  training  school 
for  women  in  every  city.  Formerly  sick 
men  were  often  nursed  by  men,  and  they 
usually  had  the  poorest  nursing.  The  rea 
son  of  this  is  fixed  in  nature  and  is  as  lasting 
as  the  race.  It  is  the  spiritual  motherhood 
of  woman  that  foreordained  her  for  this  mis 
sion,  and  no  man  ever  grows  so  old  or  so 
crusty  that  he  passes  beyond  the  need  of 
this  divine  influence  about  him  when  he  is 
sick. 

Women  are  the  natural  caretakers  of  man 
kind;  their  inborn  endowment  for  the  care 
of  the  infant  is  a  gift  that  ends  only  with 

244 


COMMENCEMENT  ADDRESS 

death  in  every  true  woman.  It  is  they  who 
look  after  the  physical  wants  of  us  all,  and, 
more  than  men,  they  are  the  guardians  and 
inspiration  of  the  better  ideals  in  life  and 
conduct.  So  the  world  is  nursed  by  women 
to  the  enormous  increase  in  the  comfort  of 
the  sick,  and  to  the  lengthening  of  the  aver 
age  span  of  human  life.  So  the  schools 
grow,  and  grow  better  and  stronger.  So 
woman's  place  in  the  world  is  enlarged  and 
dignified  by  the  trained  nurse  movement.  It 
has  done  as  much  toward  this  uplift  as  any 
other  influence,  with  the  possible  exception 
of  that  of  the  general  teaching  profession  of 
women. 

A  man  never  grows  beyond  some  memory 
of  the  time  when  most  of  his  world  was  his 
mother ;  he  never  wanders  so  far,  or  sins  so 
vilely,  that  he  loses  wholly  the  homey  feel 
ing  when  a  quiet  woman  is  working  about 
the  house — and  when  he  is  sick  unto  death 
no  touch  is  so  welcome  as  that  of  a  woman, 
even  because  she  is  a  woman.  So  the  wo 
man  nurse  is  destined  to  comfort  and  solace 
the  sick  till  the  last  of  the  race  dies  out. 
This  is  not  merely  her  mission  and  natural 
work ;  it  is  also  her  opportunity  to  help 
transform  society  for  its  benefit  physically 
and  morally ;  and  this  mission  she  can  in  no 
wise  neglect.  This  duty  rests  down  upon 

245 


COMMENCEMENT  ADDRESS 

every  one  of  you,  and  you  cannot  escape  it 
if  you  would. 

A  common  attitude  for  the  quiet  and  re 
treating  nurse  is  to  think  that,  as  she  is  but 
a  poor  little  weak  factor  in  the  great  human 
combination,  so  she  can  do  nothing  but  go 
as  and  where  the  crowd  influences  move  her. 
But  this  is  wrong  and  false ;  no  one  is  so 
humble  that  he  cannot  lift  somewhere  and 
something;  .and,  after  the  struggle  is  over, 
the  honor  is  no  less  to  the  private  soldier 
who  does  his  duty  than  to  the  commander- 
in-chief. 

Don't  attempt  the  spectacular — rarely  did 
anyone  ever  attempt  it  and  succeed  in  doing 
any  good  by  it,  when  the  effort  was  meant  to 
be  spectacular.  The  best  audience  for  your 
serious  work  is  rarely  a  crowd  of  your 
shouting  friends — your  personal  conscience 
overbalances  that  a  hundred  times. 

Do  not  expect  to  be  thanked  for  all  the 
good  you  do  others ;  for  those  you  help  will 
not  always  thank  you.  Sometimes  they  will 
wish  to,  but  will  not  know  how.  No  one  is 
greatly  fitted  to  serve  others  till  he  is  be 
yond  the  need  of  praise — however  precious 
this  may  be.  Be  sure  of  your  own  justifi 
cation  and  satisfaction  in  right  doing,  for 
that  is  the  only  adequate  reward  you  can 
always  be  sure  of  in  this  life. 

I  beg  to  say,  finally,  that  there  is  today 

246 


COMMENCEMENT  ADDRESS 

open  to  your  hands  one  of  the  greatest  tasks 
for  the  guild  of  trained  nurses  that  ever  in 
vited  the  interest  of  those  who  love  their 
kind.  Since  men  have  sinned  and  died  need 
lessly,  there  has  never  been  a  better  oppor 
tunity  to  do  good,  and  unless  the  nurses  help 
actively  the  highest  good  can  never  be  done. 
Moreover,  it  is  in  exact  line  with  their  duties 
and  work ;  for  the  nurse's  work  does  not  end 
with  the  sick  room.  It  is  her  duty,  as  it  is 
the  duty  of  every  physician,  to  help,  even 
compel,  people  to  avoid  sickness  and  keep 
as  well  as  possible.  To  compel  people  to 
keep  well  and  so  cut  down  the  needed  in 
come  of  two  professions,  is  a  form  of  altru 
ism  that  is  unique  in  history,  and  you  cannot 
and  must  not  fail  to  practice  it.  This  path 
of  duty  has  been  chalked  out  by  recent  dis 
coveries,  so  that  nobody  need  miss  it.  There 
is  one  disease  that  afflicts  at  some  time  more 
than  half  of  all  the  people;  that  comes  in 
manifold  forms  and  degrees,  that  makes 
more  havoc  of  death  than  any  other;  and 
that  disease  is  largely  preventable  as  well  as 
curable.  It  is  called  the  great  white  plague, 
but  a  better  name  would  be  the  ubiquitous 
and  needless  plague. 

Now  we  know,  doctors  and  nurses  alike, 
how  to  prevent  the  spread  of  tuberculosis, 
and  how  to  give  the  best  chance  of  recovery 
when  it  begins.  These  facts  are  known  to  a 

247 


COMMENCEMENT  ADDRESS 

demonstration,  but  the  people  are  mostly 
ignorant  of  them ;  they  are  dull  and  cannot 
learn,  or  they  are  obstinate  and  will  not. 
Nothing  but  a  campaign  by  the  united  pro 
fessions,  with  what  aid  can  be  got  of  the 
public-spirited  lay  people  who  will  learn,  can 
suffice  to  spread  this  gospel  and  save  to  the 
people  more  years  of  life,  as  well  as  to  save 
them  incalculable  treasure. 

To  prevent  the  spread  of  tuberculosis  by 
destroying  the  sputum  of  the  infected,  and 
to  put  the  victims  in  possession  of  the 
proven  aids  to  early  recovery,  are  among  the 
greatest  economic  needs  of  the  world  to 
day.  You  can  do  even  more  than  the  doc 
tors,  for  you  are  the  natural  missionaries  of 
the  race. 

The  people  need  to  be  educated  in  the 
indispensable  steps  necessary  to  compass 
the  ends  I  have  named.  The  truths  are  few 
and  vital,  and  they  run  counter  to  many  of 
our  fixed  notions  that  have  centuries  of 
usage  back  of  them. 

The  people  must  put  aside  their  fear 
of  harm  from  fresh  air,  and  learn  that 
by  living  in  the  open  a  consumptive  or  any 
other  invalid  has  a  larger  percentage  of 
certainty  of  recovery  than  under  any  other 
conditions.  Only  by  insistence  a  million 
times  over  will  they  be  made  to  give  up  their 
whims  and  learn  the  better  way.  They 

248 


COMMENCEMENT  ADDRESS 

firmly  believe  now  that  a  tight  house  to  en 
close  the  family  is  a  blessing  of  life  for  every 
one  to  seek,  but  I  know,  and  you  know,  that 
in  almost  exact  proportion  as  we  get  out  of 
the  house  and  keep  out  of  it — other  things 
being  equal — do  we  recover  from  tubercu 
losis.  And  we  are  now  finding  the  proof 
that  in  most  of  the  other  infectious  diseases, 
like  typhoid  fever  and  pneumonia,  the  out 
door  air  is  quite  as  useful  for  a  remedy 
toward  recovery. 

As  to  the  spitting  nuisance,  men  are  the 
chief  sinners.  They  have  grown  into  the 
habit  as  though  it  were  evidence  of  man 
hood  ;  in  boyhood  it  differentiates  them  from 
girls  as  much  as  swearing  and  the  coarser 
slang.  For  them  to  learn  that  their  expec 
toration  is  poisonous  to  others,  and  must  be 
destroyed,  and  that  they  must  avoid  their 
careless  spitting,  is  a  tough  lesson  indeed. 

This  lesson  you  can  help  in  a  powerful 
way  to  teach.  More  than  this,  you  can 
know  and  you  must  teach  the  people  how 
they  can  take  care  of  their  tuberculous  ones 
at  their  homes — mostly  not  in,  but  just  out 
side  the  doors  thereof — and  bring  to  them 
most  or  all  of  the  benefits  of  the  best  sana 
toria  for  tuberculosis,  which  means  to  give 
them  the  best  possible  chance  of  recovery. 

Many  of  these  people  are  poor  and  cannot 
go  away  to  sanatoria  or  to  climates  for  their 

249 


COMMENCEMENT  ADDRESS 

health,  and  most  of  them  ought  not  to  go 
away.  Left  to  themselves  they  can  never 
have  these  surpassing  benefits  at  home,  and 
they  are  almost  sure  to  infect  other  mem 
bers  of  their  own  families.  Both  these  ca 
lamities  are  avoidable ;  how  to  shun  them 
few  know  outside  of  your  profession  and 
mine.  We  do  know,  and  because  of  this 
fact  we  are  responsible.  We  cannot,  as  once 
was  possible,  plead  ignorance  as  an  excuse 
for  our  indifference  and  indolence.  We  have 
had  the  light,  we  have  entered  into  knowl 
edge,  and  we  are  in  some  measure  our  broth 
er's  keepers.  The  duty  is  upon  us  sore  and 
heavy,  and  we  cannot  escape  it,  and  if  we 
take  up  the  burden  gracefully  and  carry  it 
cheerfully,  it  will  be  a  joy  and  not  a  burden. 


250 


The  Best  Bath  for  Mankind 


The  Best  Bath  for  Mankind* 


The  vast  majority  of  people  in  civilized 
life  bathe  their  bodies  occasionally  for  pleas 
ure  or  cleanliness,  or  both.  Even  some  of 
the  lower  animals  do  the  same  thing.  Only 
a  small  minority  of  the  people  of  this  coun 
try  ablute  their  entire  bodies  oftener  than 
once  a  week.  They  wash  their  hands  and 
faces,  their  feet  and  other  more  soiled  parts 
of  the  body  perhaps  quite  often ;  but  for  the 
whole  body  once  a  week  is  a  liberal  esti 
mate.  Even  this  unusual  indulgence  is 
rarely  taken  so  much  on  the  theory  of  the 
requirements  of  health  as  for  the  supposed 
demands  of  decency. 

But  a  respectable  number  of  people,  and 
the  more  refined  and  cultivated  among 
them,  have  for  long  had  the  habit  of  fre 
quent  bathing.  Some  of  the  ancients  had 
the  habit,  and  it  has  been  sporadic  through 
the  centuries.  In  recent  decades  it  has 


*Reprinted    from    "The    Journal    of    the    Outdoor    L,ife," 
May,  1907. 

253 


THE  BEST  BATH  FOR  MANKIND 

become  rather  popular  among  the  select 
class  referred  to. 

Their  motives  in  this  overmuch  of  wash 
ing  themselves  are  apt  to  be  mixed,  and 
mixed  variously  in  different  individuals. 
Some  of  them  think  that  to  be  clean  is  to 
be  good;  they  recite  often  the  saying  about 
cleanliness  and  godliness.  Others  think  no 
body  can  be  well  who  does  not  bathe  his 
body  often ;  many  of  these  take  a  bath  once 
a  day,  a  few  take  two  or  three  of  them  daily 
— -which  last  is  evidence  (but  not  proof)  of 
gentle  aberration  of  mind,  a  want  of  the 
normal  sense  of  proportion. 

The  cold  bath  in  the  morning  before 
dressing  has  attained  a  certain  degree  of 
popularity,  especially  among  vigorous  people 
who  little  need  any  such  aid  to  power.  These 
advocate  and  defend  it  strenuously  as  a 
thing  of  hygienic  safety. 

Many  people  prefer  hot  baths,  but  rarely 
take  them  in  the  morning  for  fear  of  cold- 
catching  or  some  other  harm — unless,  in 
deed,  they  follow  the  hot  water  with  a  dash 
of  cold. 

The  popularity  of  the  cold  morning  bath 
is  not  based  on  pleasure  in  taking  it,  for  few 
people  truly  enjoy  it  except  in  very  hot 
weather,  but  all  who  are  able  to  secure  a  re 
action  of  body  heat  and  sense  of  vigor  after 
the  cold  bath  of  course  enjoy  that,  and  so 

254 


THE  BEST  BATH  FOR  MANKIND 

fancy  that  they  have  pleasure  in  the  cold 
plunge.  Nobody  enjoys  getting  out  of  a 
warm  bed  and  into  a  tub  of  cold  water,  and 
whoso  says  he  does  needs  to  revise  his  use 
of  words,  and  to  remember  that  truth  and 
accuracy  consist  with  the  universe,  and  are 
in  the  long  run  commendable. 

Another  reason  why  some  people  take  the 
cold  morning  bath,  not  why  they  ought  to 
take  it,  but  why  they  do,  is  the  widespread, 
fallacious  notion  that  a  hot  bath,  especially 
at  other  times  than  the  bed  hour,  is  danger 
ous  to  health  and  even  to  life.  So  deeply 
grounded  is  this  idea  among  some  good 
people  that  many  of  them  would  as  soon 
think  of  taking  poison  as  a  hot  bath  in  the 
morning,  unless  it  were  followed  by  a  cold 
plunge  or  douche.  They  believe  the  dash  of 
cold  water  may  safely  close  the  "pores"  of 
the  skin,  which  they  think  have  been  danger 
ously  opened  by  the  heat,  and  so  prevent 
some  threatened  but  wholly  supposititious 
calamity. 

The  tenacity  and  satisfaction  with  which 
people  seem  to  cling  to  this  false  notion  of 
physiology  would  be  more  amusing  if  it  did 
not  cause  them  so  much  injury  and  discom 
fort.  Hundreds  of  people,  the  well  and  sick 
alike,  are  daily  forcing  themselves  to  a 
morning  torture  of  cold  water  over  their  en 
tire  bodies  because  they  think  it  their  duty ; 

255 


THE  BEST  BATH  FOR  MANKIND 

and  a  pathetic  fact  it  is.  A  few  vigorous 
persons  react  so  readily  and  well  that  the 
average  of  the  experience  to  them  is  one 
of  pleasure ;  but  a  vast  army  of  weakly  peo 
ple  who  need  more  health  and  strength,  and 
who  have  no  vigor  to  waste,  expend  half 
their  day's  stock  of  energy  in  trying  to  get 
up  a  reaction  after  the  shivering  experience 
of  the  morning — which  they  ought  not  to 
have  had — and  they  succeed  only  poorly  and 
with  purple  lips  and  finger  nails,  with 
twinges  of  neuralgia  and  with  troubles  of 
digestion,  all  of  which  they  try  to  combat 
by  thicker  clothing  and  more  room  heat. 

Hundreds  of  invalids  are  trying  this  sort 
of  experiment  with  themselves  every  day 
of  their  lives,  and  with  more  struggle  and 
less  success.  This  experience  is  specially 
hard  on  the  weakly  tuberculous  patients 
who  are  so  apt  to  have  subnormal  temper 
atures  in  the  morning.  There  is  reason  to 
think  the  febrile  patients  have  more  fever  in 
the  afternoon  by  reason  of  this  morning 
struggle.  Yet  some  managers  of  sanatoria 
for  consumptives  blindly  advocate  the  daily 
cold  bath  for  every  patient  who  can  tolerate 
and  will  take  it. 

This  attitude  is  one  of  the  most  amazing 
facts  in  human  judgment.  There  is  no 
doubt  that  the  shock  of  a  cold  thing  momen 
tarily  applied  to  the  surface  of  an  easily  re- 

256 


THE  BEST  BATH  FOR  MANKIND 

acting  human  body  may  affect  the  nervous 
system  in  the  direction  of  more  vigor;  that 
is,  as  a  stimulant,  and  so  might  do  good. 
But  most  of  the  invalids  have  very  little  re 
acting  power,  and  this  rough  experience 
tends  to  lessen  vitality,  not  to  increase  it. 
Besides,  it  causes  intropulsion  of  blood, 
temporary  congestion  of  internal  organs, 
and  consequent  disturbances  of  digestion. 
To  subject  an  invalid  to  a  daily  discomfort 
that  is  not  positively  necessary  is  wicked; 
it  is  doubly  so  if  positive  injury  is  done  by 
a  useless  pain-giving  measure. 

The  daily  full  bath  is  not  necessary  for 
the  removal  of  dirt  from  the  general  surface 
of  the  body.  To  say  that  the  ordinary  ac 
cumulation  of  grime  interferes  with  skin 
physiology  by  closing  the  pores  is  nonsense ; 
a  little  perspiration  lifts  the  dirt  from  the 
skin  as  inevitably  as  wood  shavings  float  on 
the  surface  of  water. 

Moreover,  there  are  as  fine  specimens  of 
longevity,  with  a  minimum  of  sickness, 
among  the  habitually  dirty  people  as  among 
the  fastidiously  clean. 

Bathing  of  the  whole  body,  and  that  often, 
is  commendable,  as  clean  clothes  are.  They 
all  belong  to  the  better  civilization,  and  they 
are  nice.  Bathing,  too,  may  be  a  useful 
stimulant  to  certain  intimate  processes  of 
the  physiology  of  the  body ;  and  it  has  some 

257 


THE  BEST  BATH  FOR  MANKIND 

effect  of  skin  massage,  which  is  good  as  far 
as  it  goes;  but  for  this  last  effect  a  rough 
towel  or  a  flesh  brush  does  as  well  as  the 
bath.  The  activities  of  daily  life  of  stirring 
people  give  considerable  skin  manipulation, 
so  this  manual  grooming  can  hardly  be  de 
manded  for  active  folks,  although  it  may 
have  a  certain  degree  of  usefulness. 

Bathing  should  be  made  pleasant,  not  dis 
agreeable.  It  ought  not  to  be  a  torture  but 
a  joy — provided,  always,  that  it  can  be 
made  a  joy,  and  be  as  useful  in  all  ways ;  and 
it  can  be.  Bitter  medicines  and  flagellations 
are  only  justifiable  by  positive  benefits  for 
most  grievous  ills.  The  daily  bath  need  not 
be  painful  in  any  of  its  steps. 

The  best  bath  for  the  average  person,  sick 
or  well,  is  a  very  hot  one,  taken  on  rising 
in  the  morning,  with  a  small  quantity  of 
water,  and  taken  quickly.  Such  an  one  is 
a  positive  pleasure  in  every  way ;  it  has  no 
drawbacks  or  dangers  of  any  kind ;  and  it  is 
as  useful  as  any  bath  can  well  be.  The 
water  should  be  much  warmer  than  the 
normal  heat  of  the  body,  and  may  range 
from  105  to  110°  F.  The  higher  tempera 
ture  is  preferable  for  a  sponge  bath,  unless 
the  room  heat  is  quite  high.  A  dash  of 
water  at  110°  F.  over  the  body  causes  in 
stantly  the  condition  called  goose-flesh, 
which  is  commonly  supposed  to  be  due  to 

258 


THE  BEST  BATH  FOR  MANKIND 

cold  upon  the  skin.  It  is  the  stimulation  of 
the  skin  suddenly  that  causes  the  phe 
nomenon,  whether  it  be  produced  by  heat 
or  cold. 

For  a  tub  bath,  which  is  the  best,  a  bath 
tub  is  not  indispensable ;  an  ordinary  large 
wash-tub  will  do.  It  should  have  six  to 
twelve  inches  in  depth  of  the  hot  water. 
In  this  the  bather  sits  and  rapidly  ablutes 
himself,  his  whole  body,  with  soap  if  agree 
able  and  with  any  sort  and  degree  of  rub 
bing  that  he  likes,  using  hands,  brush  or 
what  not.  It  is  better  to  sit  and  work  than 
to  lie  down  in  the  bath. 

Not  over  five  minutes  should  be  spent  in 
the  tub ;  three  minutes  more  suffice  to  dry 
the  body;  then  dressing  may  be  done  at 
once — there  is  no  need  for  towel  rubbing 
to  bring  on  a  reaction ;  the  reaction  is  there 
already,  with  pink  skin,  lips  and  finger  nails, 
and  with  a  pleasure  that  is  complete  because 
unattended  with  the  memory  of  punishment. 

After  such  a  bath  one  requires  no  rest  or 
other  preparation  for  his  breakfast  or  his 
day's  work ;  he  is  ready  for  both,  and  goes 
at  them  as  a  boy  goes  to  his  play.  There 
is  no  sensation  of  weakness  or  drowsiness 
after  such  a  bath,  none  of  the  letting-down 
feeling  that  some  people  complain  of  after 
a  prolonged  soaking  at  full  length  in  a  tub 
of  hot  water. 

259 


THE  BEST  BATH  FOR  MANKIND 

There  is  no  cold-catching  or  tendency  to 
it  after  the  quick  hot  bath.  In  a  knowledge 
of  some  thousands  of  baths  of  this  sort,  by 
people  of  all  degrees  of  vigor  and  many 
shades  of  various  sicknesses,  I  have  never 
heard  of  cold-taking  or  any  other  injury 
whatever  from  the  bath.  And  unsought  tes 
timony  to  the  value  of  this  measure,  in  re 
covery  from  neuralgias  and  so-called  rheu 
matism,  from  indigestion  of  various  forms, 
and  in  more  vigor  and  pleasure  in  activity, 
has  come  from  too  many  of  these  people — 
often  in  melting  gratitude  at  their  discovery 
— to  be  accounted  for  by  the  complaisant 
theory  of  coincidence. 

There  never  was  any  reason  in  the  preju 
dice  against  the  hot  bath  taken  quickly.  But 
there  is  an  explanation  of  it  in  the  popular 
tendency  to  remember  and  hand  down  from 
generation  to  generation,  without  sense  or 
reason,  all  manner  of  notions  and  myths 
about  possible  calamities  to  humankind — 
as  though  man  could  find  happiness  and 
longevity  if  he  could  only  have  enough  rules 
against  calamities.  Thus,  hot  baths,  night 
air,  fresh  air  in  houses  (especially  in  sleep 
ing  rooms),  draughts  of  air,  walking  under 
a  ladder,  seeing  the  new  moon  in  a  certain 
way,  observing  deformed  persons,  having 
the  dreams  of  indigestion,  and  a  hundred 
other  normal,  harmless  or  insignificant 

260 


THE  BEST  BATH  FOR  MANKIND 

things  have  been  branded  as  harbingers  of 
woe.  And  the  brand  has  gone  deep ;  it  per 
sists  with  many  people  who  would  really 
like  to  put  away  their  foolishness. 

It  has  been  alleged  against  the  hot  bath 
as  here  advocated  that  for  the  well  it  tends 
to  effeminacy  and  lowers  the  resisting 
power  of  the  body;  that,  to  toughen  one  to 
stand  vicissitudes  and  avoid  cold-catching, 
nothing  is  so  good  as  the  cold  bath,  espe 
cially  about  the  throat  and  chest,  with  vig 
orous  rubbing.  Many  children  of  otherwise 
kindly  parents  are  daily  tortured  in  this  way 
to  "toughen  them."  Of  course  it  toughens 
them,  but  any  other  form  of  exercise  would 
do  as  well — and  hot  water  does  it  better 
than  cold.  It  does  not  prevent  colds  except 
through  increase  of  vigor.  Colds  do  not 
come  by  sensations  of  cold  or  by  draughts 
of  air  upon  the  skin,  or  by  wet  feet,  but  by 
fatigue,  lowered  vitality,  overstrain  of  the 
nervous  system,  and  especially  by  indiges 
tion  and  other  disorders  of  the  stomach  and 
bowels.  The  best  treatment  of  a  cold  is  by 
resting  of  the  stomach  and  a  free  use  of 
saline  laxatives,  not  with  anodyne  drugs  of 
the  current  fashion. 

In  northern  climates  people  rarely  have 
colds  during  the  winter  weather,  but  rather 
in  the  melting  weather  of  spring.  A  fit  of 
migraine  often  is  followed  by  a  sneezing 

261 


THE  BEST  BATH  FOR  MANKIND 

cold,  with  irritation  of  the  lower  air  pas 
sages  and  coughs.  This,  too,  is  usually 
helped  more  by  alkaline  saline  laxatives 
than  by  anodyne  cough  mixtures. 

We  are  slow  to  adopt  the  correct  theory 
of  the  occurrence  of  the  common  cold — 
mainly  because  it  is  not  the  layman's  theory, 
for  lay  theories  do  sometimes  persist  amaz 
ingly,  even  among  doctors,  who  often 
acquiesce  in  them  without  knowing  it. 
Benjamin  Franklin,  a  layman  himself, 
taught  the  correct  theory  a  century  and  a 
half  ago — only  it  was  not  fashionable  then 
as  it  is  not  now.  Many  of  his  other  wise 
teachings  are  unfashionable. 

The  right  way  to  avoid  colds  is  to  keep 
the  body  well,  and  especially  to  attend  to 
the  digestive  organs ;  and  not  to  rail  about 
draughts,  night  air  and  hot  baths,  all  of 
which  are  good. 


262 


The  Draught  Fetish 


The  Draught  Fetish* 


Popular  notions  that  are  groundless  are 
always  subjects  of  great  interest.  When 
they  are  harmless,  like  numerous  myths  of 
old,  we  can  afford  to  be  amused  and  enter 
tained  by  them.  But  sometimes  they  are 
harmful  to  those  whom  they  possess,  or 
obsess,  and  to  the  world  at  large ;  then  they 
rightly  become  matters  of  concern  to  the 
economist  and  to  all  well-wishers  of  the 
human  race. 

The  popular  notion  about  cold  catching 
and  the  danger  from  draughts  and  colds  is 
one  of  these  harmful  theories  that  amounts 
almost  to  a  delusion.  There  can  be  no  doubt 
that  this  fetish,  for  such  it  really  is,  leads 
every  year  to  the  sickness  and  death  of  a 
large  number  of  people,  and  in  a  most  un 
necessary  manner.  Yet  the  idea  is  so  firmly 
fixed  in  the  popular  mind,  and  is  held  by  so 
large  a  majority  of  the  common  people  that 
it  is  regarded  as  axiomatic.  To  disturb  the 

*Reprinted  from  "The  Journal  of  the  Outdoor  Life."  No 
vember,  1905. 

265 


THE  DRAUGHT  FETISH 

popular  belief  about  it  is  always  difficult. 
Any  suggestion  or  argument  against  it  is 
met  at  once  with  a  storm  of  objections,  if 
not  of  ridicule. 

Colds,  according  to  an  error  of  the  pop 
ular  mind,  are  acquired  chiefly  through  the 
thing  called  a  draught,  which  means  a  per 
ceptible  movement  of  air  about  the  pa 
tient's  body,  especially  his  head,  when  he 
is  indoors.  The  term  is  not  applied  to 
the  gentle  breeze  out  of  doors,  although  it  is 
the  same  kind  of  a  thing.  As  a  result  of  this 
idea  people  are  constantly  disturbed,  con 
stantly  fearful  that  they  will  sit  in  a  draught 
or  stand  in  a  draught,  and  if  they  feel  a  slight 
movement  of  air  they  are  mostly  anxious  to 
stop  it  by  closing  windows  and  doors.  You 
may  create  surprise,  even  bordering  on  ter 
ror,  if  you  say  that  you  enjoy  draughts  when 
some  good  soul  has  rushed  to  close  a  win 
dow  to  save  your  life — asking  if  you  are  not 
"afraid  of  that  draught?"  If  you  ask  your 
solicitous  friend  what  harm  there  can  be  in 
a  draught,  he  will  tell  you  that  it  will  give 
you  a  cold,  and  that  then  you  may  get  con 
sumption.  If  you  remind  him  that  he  walks 
and  rides  in  a  wind  out  of  doors  without  any 
such  fear,  he  will  tell  you  that  a  wind  is  not 
a  draught,  and  that  a  wind  is  not  dangerous 
like  a  draught.  If  you  ask  him  what  the 
difference  is,  he  is  nonplussed,  and  you 

266 


THE  DRAUGHT  FETISH 

thereby  discover  that  you  have  asked  him 
a  new  question,  one  that  he  never  thought 
of  before,  and  his  answer  is  likely  to  appear 
to  himself,  on  second  thought,  to  be  unten 
able  if  not  absurd.  He  can  give  you  no  ex 
planation  of  the  difference,  for  essentially 
there  is  none.  Yet  if  you  should  chance  to 
say  that  all  people,  well  and  sick,  ought  to  be 
constantly  in  a  draught,  never  out  of  it,  you 
are  likely  to  make  some  benighted  people 
think  you  are  a  slightly  unbalanced  doctri 
naire,  or  that  you  really  do  not  know  what 
you  are  talking  about. 

People  doubtless  do  occasionally  take  a 
sneezing  that  is  harmless  from  sitting  in 
a  draught,  insufficiently  clad.  The  remedy 
is  simply  more  clothing.  But  people  do 
not  take  their  true  colds  from  draught 
or  cold  or  even  wet  feet,  but  mostly  from 
fatigue,  digestive  derangements,  overwork 
and  lack  of  sleep  and  rest.  Colds  less  often 
come  on  in  the  depth  of  winter  than  in  the 
warming  weather  of  spring.  As  a  result  of 
the  popular  notion,  however,  most  people 
when  they  have  taken  a  cold  immediately 
knit  their  brows  and  begin  to  meditate  on 
what  could  have  caused  it.  And  as  nearly 
everybody  is,  for  some  length  of  time,  some 
moment  each  day,  in  a  draught,  it  is  easy  for 
any  victim  of  a  cold  to  refer  his  trouble  to 
some  such  experience,  although  the  theory 

267 


THE  DRAUGHT  FETISH 

may  be  as  groundless  as  one  that  should 
ascribe  the  cold  to  the  pointing  of  some 
body's  finger  at  him. 

The  truth  is  that  the  fear  of  a  draught 
compels  numberless  people  to  breathe  bad 
air  constantly,  which  lowers  their  vitality, 
makes  it  easy  for  micro-organisms  to  attack 
them,  and  for  them  to  get  all  sorts  of  dis 
ease  which  constant  fresh  air  might  enable 
them  to  escape.  They  are  more  susceptible 
to  cold  catching  than  the  people  who  either 
ignore  draughts  altogether  or  clothe  them 
selves  so  that  they  can  bear  them. 

There  is  only  one  way  for  us  to  know  that 
every  inspiration  brings  us  a  body  of  fresh 
air,  namely,  to  have  the  air  in  front  of  our 
faces  constantly  in  motion;  that  constitutes 
a  draught,  whether  the  motion  be  little  or 
much.  The  only  way  to  live  healthily  is  to 
be  sure  that  we  do  not  breathe  over  again 
the  air  we  have  already  contaminated  by 
breathing,  and  the  only  way  to  accomplish 
this  is  to  be  always  in  a  draught.  Not  a 
gale  is  needed,  but  a  gentle  draught.  This, 
then,  is  the  gospel  we  should  preach,  and 
we  should  preach  it  at  all  seasons  and  every 
where.  It  will  be  met  by  ridicule,  it  has 
often  been  ridiculed,  but  it  is  a  truth  of  such 
moment  for  the  good  of  the  people,  and  it 
is  so  unimpeachable  scientifically,  that  those 

268 


THE  DRAUGHT  FETISH 

who  preach  it  can  afford  to  smile  at  the  rail 
ings  of  the  fetish  followers  who  object  to  it. 
The  common  cold  is  not  followed  by  seri 
ous  disease,  nor  is  it  attended  with  fever. 
True  influenza  or  grip,  on  the  other  hand, 
is  usually  a  febrile  disease  and  is  occasion 
ally  followed  by  phthisis.  A  cold  often  fol 
lows  a  fit  of  indigestion,  a  paroxysm  of 
migraine  (sick  headache),  a  day  of  overwork 
or  a  night  without  sleep;  it  conies  to  those 
who  live  out  of  doors  perhaps  one-fifth  as 
often  as  to  the  overhoused  people.  Soldiers 
in  camp,  sleeping  in  tents  or  under  trees  or 
wagons  and  wrapped  in  their  blankets,  very 
rarely  have  colds.  But  when  they  go  home 
on  furlough  and  sleep  in  close  bedrooms 
they  show  a  marked  susceptibility  to  these 
troubles. 


269 


Some  Pasadena  Architecture 


Some  Pasadena  Architecture* 


A  Criticism 

Since  the  world  began,  the  world  of  man 
kind  in  many  ways  like  ourselves,  people 
have  followed  some  fashion.  They  have 
trailed  after  the  largest  crowd,  or,  accord 
ing  to  their  standards,  the  most  desirable 
crowd ;  and  have  tried  to  do  things  as  these 
crowds  do  them.  The  fashion  makers  are 
really  not  wholly  the  makers  of  fashions. 
They  do  mostly  three  definite  things:  they 
study  what  the  people  will  most  readily  ac 
cept  for  the  next  fashion;  they  lean  toward 
a  new  fashion  because  they  have  tired  of 
the  old;  and  they  try  to  lead  the  people  to 
the  new  because  it  is  profitable. 

If  we  are  committed  to  an  uncomfortable 
fashion,  we  hope  to  put  it  aside  some  time 
in  the  future;  to  discard  it  on  the  moment 
would  be  impossible.  In  our  poverty  of 

*From  "The  Pasadena  Star,"  March  12,  1910,  under  the 
editorial  management  for  one  day  of  Rev.  Malcolm  James 
McLeod. 

273 


SOME  PASADENA  ARCHITECTURE 

courage  we  hope  for  a  change  in  the  fashion 
that  will  permit  us  to  discard  it. 

When  we  look  at  the  dwelling  houses 
built  in  Pasadena  during  the  boom  of 
1886  and  7,  it  is  difficult  to  believe  that  the 
town  was  then  inhabited  by  the  same  kind 
of  folks  as  live  here  now.  Most  of  the 
houses  of  that  day  are  ornate  with  gewgaws 
and  jig-saw  work,  if  indeed  these  are  ornate. 
Small  wonder  that  when  a  man  of  later  taste 
buys  one  of  these  old  houses  he  tears  off  as 
many  of  the  disfigurements  as  possible  and 
covers  up  as  many  of  the  rest  as  he  can. 

The  dwelling  houses  of  Pasadena  today 
are  certainly  more  beautiful  than  those  of 
the  early  eighties.  This  is  especially  true  of 
many  cottages  and  bungalows.  The  later 
ones  are  quiet,  dignified,  restful  in  appear 
ance,  and  possess  in  a  much  higher  degree 
the  features  that  are  likely  to  impress  the 
average  thoughtful  person  as  natural  and 
fit.  Their  colors  are  pleasing,  and  their 
quiet  dignity  and  lack  of  gaudiness  must 
appeal  to  the  future ;  and  they  are  the  admir 
ation  of  the  visiting  world. 

Some  juxtapositions  of  colors,  and  certain 
forms  and  shapes,  are  innately  harmonious 
and  therefore  essentially  beautiful,  although 
the  some-day  fashion  may  deny  it.  Such 
fashions  as  deny  it  are  likely  to  be  relatively 
shortlived.  We  follow  many  awkward  cus- 

274 


SOME  PASADENA  ARCHITECTURE 

toms  for  a  time  because  they  are  the  vogue, 
but  we  soon  lay  them  aside  when  they  are 
so  inconvenient  as  to  be  somewhat  vulgar — 
like  cutting  a  watermelon  or  lettuce  salad 
with  the  edge  of  a  table  fork. 

In  one  important  particular  many  of  the 
later  houses  are  distinctly  inferior  to  some 
of  their  much-ridiculed  predecessors.  Then 
it  was  good  form  to  project  a  peaked  roof 
into  the  air  and  decorate  it  with  strips  of 
scalloped  wood  for  architectural  effect.  Now 
we  make  a  quieter  roof,  but  clap  it  down 
within  a  few  inches  of  the  ceiling  of  the 
sleeping  rooms.  This  mode  may  comport 
with  taste,  but  from  a  humanitarian  stand 
point  it  is  a  crime.  Try  to  sleep  in  an  upper 
room  of  one  of  these  modern  houses  or  in 
one  of  these  bungalows  on  a  hot  night,  or 
any  cool  night  after  a  very  hot  day,  and  you 
will  discover  where  the  crime  is,  and  per 
haps  guess  what  punishment  would  fit  it. 
The  roof  gets  hot  during  the  day,  the  shal 
low  air  space  between  it  and  the  ceiling  gets 
hot,  the  ceiling  is  hot,  and  the  people  in  bed 
are  hot,  sweaty  and  worried.  The  high 
attics  of  some  of  the  discredited  houses  of 
boom  times  make  such  hot  ceilings  impos 
sible,  and  so  in  one  feature  at  least  they  are 
better,  and  show  that  our  architecture  has 
retrograded.  But  many  of  the  old  houses 

275 


SOME  PASADENA  ARCHITECTURE 

have  cramped  little  rooms  in  the  roof,  and 
so  are  as  bad  as  the  flat  topped  bungalows. 

Admit  that  we  have  very  few  hot  days  in 
summer  and  fewer  hot  nights,  yet  there 
are  enough  of  them  to  make  numerous 
people  sick  who  sleep  in  such  bedrooms. 
Some  of  them  die  from  diseases  contracted 
in  this  manner.  Many  of  them  suffer  woe, 
sickness,  doctor  bills,  and  expensive  trips 
away  from  home  to  cool  off ;  and  all  because 
of  the  squatty,  low  roofs  of  the  houses  they 
sleep  in.  These  tragedies  are  the  more  piti 
able  because  they  are  wholly  unnecessary. 

Some  painful  fashions  injure  chiefly  those 
who  adopt  and  follow  them.  These  can 
abandon  the  fashions  and  get  rid  of  the  dis 
comforts  if  they  will ;  if  they  will  not,  they 
perhaps  deserve  to  suffer.  Not  so  with  the 
fashions  in  houses.  If  the  houses  are  un 
comfortable  and  unhygienic,  the  evil  is  vis 
ited  upon  successive  generations  of  occu 
pants,  sometimes  to  their  lasting  injury  as 
well  as  to  the  hurt  of  the  generations  that 
follow  them.  It  takes  money  to  change  the 
roof  of  a  house,  and  a  knowledge  of  the 
cause  of  their  sufferings  that  most  of  the 
victims  lack.  The  architects  have  the  knowl 
edge.  They  need  only  some  courage  and  an 
adequate  conviction  of  sin. 

In  this  region  every  roof  over  a  sleeping 
room  should  be  high  enough  above  it  to  give 

276 


SOME  PASADENA  ARCHITECTURE 

an  abundant  space  into  which  the  hot  air 
from  the  room  can  rush  upon  opening  a 
door.  And  the  door  should  be  provided, 
and  there  should  be  openings  to  permit  the 
air  to  escape  from  the  attic.  The  low  attics 
of  today  have  commendable  little  ventilators, 
but  in  quite  nine  houses  in  ten  the  vertical 
attic  space  is  not  over  one-quarter  what  it 
ought  to  be  for  the  few  hot  nights  of  any 
summer.  Then  the  houses  should  have  win 
dows,  doors  and  transoms  so  arranged  as 
to  make  it  possible  to  have  thorough  venti 
lation  and  movement  of  air  from  whichever 
direction  there  is  a  breeze. 

Pasadena  has  hot  spells  in  summer,  like 
Chicago  and  New  York ;  not  more,  probably 
fewer.  The  heat  is  easier  to  bear  than  that 
of  the  east,  but  that  is  no  reason  for  making 
ourselves  as  miserable  as  possible.  The 
house  in  Pasadena  with  a  high  attic  and 
windows  and  doors  so  arranged  as  to  make 
thorough  ventilation  easy  is  practically 
never  uncomfortable  for  sleeping  in  the  hot 
test  nights  of  the  year.  The  occupants  of 
such  houses  never  need,  on  account  of  the 
heat,  to  go  away  from  home  for  comfort. 
What  is  the  sense  of  making  a  multitude  of 
people  uncomfortable  a  half  dozen  or  more 
nights  every  summer  for  the  paltry  pleasure 
in  the  looks  of  the  roofs  of  their  houses — 
and  this  not  because  they  are  innately  more 

277 


SOME  PASADENA  ARCHITECTURE 

beautiful,  but  only  fashionable — in  the  year 
they  were  built! 

Notice  how  some  citizen  builds  a  house  of 
this  modern  sort.  He  takes  the  advice  of 
his  architect  who  would  have  the  structure 
to  be  beautiful  according  to  the  modern 
fashion  in  roofs.  The  neighbors  compliment 
him  on  his  new  house  and  he  and  his  wife 
think  it  very  fine.  But  in  two  or  three  years 
they  offer  it  for  sale — they  say  they  want 
a  smaller  house,  or  maybe  they  will  move 
away;  or  some  other  reason,  ingenuous  or 
disingenuous,  is  offered  for  selling  the  house. 
The  purchaser  is  told  all  about  the  various 
virtues  of  the  house ;  it  has  a  good  founda 
tion  ;  it  is  well  made,  is  convenient,  has  good 
closets  and  bathrooms,  and  is  a  thing  of 
beauty — but  not  a  word  about  the  roof.  The 
house  is  sold.  A  year  later  these  same  peo 
ple  build  another  house  with  a  high  attic  and 
a  door  opening  into  it.  They  have  learned 
wisdom,  but  are  embarrassed  with  their 
temptation  to  tell  of  it,  lest  their  real  reason 
for  selling  the  first  house  will  get  to  the  ears 
of  the  purchasers  who  may  be  their  neigh 
bors. 

A  large  number  of  our  citizens  live  and 
die  here  without  ever  learning  this  lesson. 
They  always  sleep  under  the  low  roofs,  and 
they  will  tell  you,  if  they  are  frank  and  not 
fearful  of  giving  the  town  a  bad  name,  that 

278 


SOME  PASADENA  ARCHITECTURE 

Pasadena  has  every  summer  some — perhaps 
many — very  hot  nights,  when  it  is  difficult 
to  sleep  in  comfort.  They  never  know  any 
better.  The  people  who  sleep  under  high 
and  well-ventilated  attics  will  tell  you  just 
as  ingenuously  and  altogether  truthfully, 
that  Pasadena  never  has  a  night  too  hot 
for  comfortable  sleep — that  they  themselves 
always  need  a  blanket  over  them  some  time 
during  the  hottest  of  nights — they  may  go 
to  sleep  with  only  a  sheet  to  cover  them,  or 
perhaps  not  even  that,  but  before  morning 
they  find  that  they  have,  awake  or  asleep, 
pulled  up  the  blanket  and  covered  their 
bodies. 

There  was  once  a  shield  about  which  two 
men  are  said  to  have  quarreled,  because  they 
were  looking  at  it  from  opposite  sides  that 
were  different. 


279 


The  Yosemite  Valley  in  Winter 


The  Yosemite  Valley  in  Winter* 


If  you  would  enjoy  supremely  a  vacation, 
if  you  are  anxious  to  get  away  from  an  office 
of  dust,  dirt  and  bad  air,  away  from  perplex 
ing  cares,  and  into  the  best  possible  condi 
tions  for  recreation  and  recuperation,  you 
must  visit  the  Yosemite  valley  in  the  win 
ter.  There  is  nothing  like  it — especially  if, 
to  reach  the  valley  and  return,  you  are 
obliged  to  travel  on  horseback  about  one 
hundred  miles  through  snow,  much  of  it 
four  feet  deep,  and  break  your  own  roads. 
That  is  what  we  did,  and  a  more  bronzed 
pair  of  Chicagoans  than  we  are,  now  that 
we  have  returned  from  the  journey,  you  have 
not  seen.t  When  we  proposed  to  our  friends 
in  San  Francisco  that  we  might  reach  the 
valley  in  February  they  asked  us  if  we  were 
insane.  To  go  to  the  Yosemite  in  the  winter 
was  next  to  impossible ;  the  snow  was  thirty 
feet  deep ;  we  would  freeze  to  death,  most 

*Reprint  from  the  "Chicago  Morning  Record,"  March  12, 
1882. 

fThe  other  of  the  pair  was  the  late  Frank  B.  Tobey. 

283 


THE  YOSEMITE  VALLEY 

likely,  if  we  attempted  it ;  if  we  reached  the 
valley  we  would  be  snowed  in  and  could 
not  get  out  before  April.  Of  twenty  or  more 
sensible  men  of  whom  we  inquired  about  the 
matter,  only  one  gave  us  the  slightest  en 
couragement  that  we  could  reach  the  val 
ley,  and  that  one  was  Sam  Miller,  the  agent 
of  the  stage-line  whose  business  it  is  to  take 
tourists  to  that  spot.  He  said  there  was 
not  much  snow  on  the  Sierra  Nevadas  at 
last  accounts,  and  that,  if  we  were  not  afraid 
of  a  little  snow,  and  could  rough  it  if  neces 
sary,  and  if  we  did  not  encounter  another 
storm  or  two,  we  certainly  could  reach  the 
valley ;  and  the  stage  company  would  do  its 
best  to  take  us  through  if  we  cared  to  try  it. 
As  we  bethought  ourselves  that  we  did  not 
visit  the  Pacific  coast  every  year,  we  cared 
to  try  it.  The  journey  to  Merced  by  rail 
was  easy  enough ;  and  that  by  stage  thence 
to  Mariposa,  forty-five  miles,  was  not  hard — 
that  of  the  next  day  to  Cold  Spring  station 
went  off  all  right.  There  we  encountered 
snow  too  deep  for  a  wheeled  vehicle,  and 
there  was  no  other  vehicle  to  be  had.  We 
found  an  old  sled  by  the  side  of  the  road, 
but  it  could  not  be  used.  We  got  saddles 
and  mounted  the  horses.  It  was  ten  miles 
to  Clark  station.* 

*  Clark  Station  is  now  Wawona. 

284 


IN  WINTER 

WADING  AND  WALLOWING  IN  SNOW 

We  waded,  wallowed  through  the  snow — 
that  is,  the  horses  did — single  file,  and  slow 
ly.  Clark's  was  reached  in  four  hours  and  a 
quarter,  and  we  had  traveled  a  little  faster 
than  two  miles  an  hour.  We  thought  this  a 
very  hard  ride,  and  were  much  fatigued  by 
it.  It  was  nothing  compared  with  our  task 
of  the  next  day,  when  we  attempted  to  ride 
to  the  big  trees.  Here  we  found  the  snow 
deeper;  it  was,  much  of  the  way,  four  and 
a  half  feet  deep,  and  there  was  no  track. 
The  horses  took  turns  in  breaking  the  way 
for  the  party ;  no  one  horse  could  have  done 
it  alone ;  every  hundred  feet  we  halted  for 
rest;  several  times  my  horse  settled  down 
in  the  snow  and  rested  on  his  belly,  while  I 
stood  upon  the  snow.  Henry  Berg  would 
never  have  taken  that  ride,  nor  have  allowed 
any  one  else  if  he  could  prevent  it.  I  think 
if  I  should  discover  you  abusing  a  horse  in 
Chicago  by  such  hardships  as  these  horses 
endured,  you  would  be  in  danger  of  arrest. 
We  were  six  hours  and  a  half  in  reaching 
the  big  trees,  just  five  miles,  and  it  was  nine 
hours  before  we  got  back  to  the  station. 
What  do  I  think  of  the  big  trees  ?  They  are 
large,  but  I  could  not  think  they  were  so 
large  as  the  undertaking  we  made  to  get  to 
them,  or  the  idiocy  of  anybody  who  would 

285 


THE  YOSEMITE  VALLEY 

try  to  do  such  a  feat  under  such  difficulties. 
There  are  so  many  colossal  pines,  and  firs, 
and  cedars,  and  spruces  in  the  magnificent 
forest  that  covers  the  Sierra  Nevadas  that  I 
really  think  the  sight  of  the  big  trees  did 
not  pay  for  the  effort,  and  the  cruelty  to 
animals  we  were  guilty  of. 

ADVENTURES  IN  THE  WOODS 

Next  day  we  started  over  the  mountains 
again  for  the  Yosemite.  A  sled  had  preceded 
us,  and  there  was  something  of  a  track.  We 
rode  eleven  miles  to  Eleven  Mile  station, 
and  there  camped  for  the  night  in  a  rude 
cabin  with  an  old  trapper  and  his  compan 
ion,  who  is  an  old  seaman.  We  slept  on 
the  floor  with  our  overcoats  on,  and  our  feet 
toward  the  fire.  The  coyotes  and  wolves 
howled  in  the  distance.  In  the  early  evening 
we  were  entertained  by  a  story,  a  yarn,  by 
the  old  sailor,  of  his  adventures  in  the  woods 
near  the  Yosemite.  He  was  lost,  and  slept 
out  in  the  cold  all  night,  and  had  no  food 
for  thirty-six  hours ;  it  was  winter,  and  he 
had  no  clothes  but  overalls  and  a  couple  of 
thick  shirts.  He  built  a  fire  with  his  last 
match,  and  then  could  not  keep  warm ;  he 
rolled  from  side  to  side — one  side  was  warm 
— hot,  the  other  was  freezing.  Finally  he 
fell  asleep  and  was  awakened  by  a  smarting 
sensation  in  his  legs — his  overalls  were  on 

286 


IN  WINTER 

fire.  He  put  out  the  fire.  He  rolled  over  on 
the  floor  to  give  us  an  illustration  of  the 
performance.  It  was  as  good  as  a  play.  At 
the  end  of  the  second  day,  after  wandering 
aimlessly  about,  he  came  upon  a  deserted 
house  not  far  from  Glacier  Point,  which  is  a 
part  of  the  Yosemite  region.  The  house  was 
used  in  summer  for  the  entertainment  of 
tourists.  He  crawled  in  through  the  win 
dow  and  found  dried  venison  and  tea  and 
old  bread,  and  grease  to  fry  the  meat  in,  and 
matches,  but  no  whisky.  His  joy  could  be 
expressed  by  one  phrase  only.  He  said :  "I 
says  to  meself,  thank  God  for  this,  by  God." 
He  fried  his  venison  in  his  supposititious 
grease,  to  find,  when  he  sat  down  to  the 
meal,  that  he  had  used  soft  soap,  and  not 
grease  at  all.  "By  Jove,  I  thought  that  grease 
didn't  sputter  just  right,  any'ow,"  said  he. 
When  he  got  back  to  the  valley  and  met  the 
friends  who  had  been  hunting  for  him,  he 
got  beautifully  boozy,  all  of  which  he  illus 
trated  to  us  as  well  as  he  could  sober,  and 
when  going  back  in  a  wagon  to  Clark's, 
where  he  had  been  employed,  he  wrapped 
himself  up  in  many  blankets  and  pretended 
to  be  very  sick.  It  had  the  desired  effect, 
and  he  got  some  large  draughts  of  good 
whisky.  In  a  little  while  the  children  at  the 
station,  with  whom  this  man  was  always  a 
favorite,  were  heard  to  say:  "How  quickly 

287 


THE  YOSEMITE  VALLEY 

Jim  has  got  well;  he  was  awful  sick,  and 
now  he  is  all  right."  Our  guide  said  he  had 
heard  Capt.  Jim  (Burgess)  tell  that  yarn 
more  than  a  dozen  times,  and  always  word 
for  word  as  he  told  it  to  us.  Not  a  particle 
of  the  by-play  is  ever  omitted.  It  was  a 
famous  yarn. 

THE  ENGLISH  LANGUAGE  TOO  WEAK 

Next  day  (February  21st)  our  horses  car 
ried  us  into  Yosemite  valley.  It  was  fifteen 
miles,  and  we  reached  it  by  3  p.m.  The  snow 
all  the  way  was  two  to  four  feet  deep,  and 
the  same  wallowing  process,  at  a  slow  walk, 
was  the  best  we  could  do.  We  were  over 
come  with  fatigue,  but  more  overcome  by 
the  sight.  Do  not  ask  any  one  to  describe 
this  spot — the  English  is  too  weak.  You 
get  a  contempt  for  such  words  as  sublime, 
awful,  grand,  prodigious,  magnificent;  and, 
when  a  man  says  charming,  beautiful,  won 
derful,  to  you,  he  has  insulted  your  under 
standing.  You  must  see  the  valley.  It  does 
not  lose  anything  of  its  value  as  a  sight  in 
winter;  it  rather  gains,  for  then  you  have 
the  ice-work  in  many  forms  about  the  falls, 
and  you  hear  the  sound  as  of  distant  can 
nonading,  and  most  wonderful  reverberation 
and  echo  produced  by  the  falling  of  great 
masses  of  ice  upon  the  rocks  below.  You 
see  what  appears  to  be  a  snowball  break 

288 


IN  WINTER 

loose  near  the  top  of  the  falls ;  you  wait 
twenty  seconds  or  more  by  the  watch,  and 
see  it  strike  the  rocks  one-third  of  a  mile 
below,  and  break  into  fine  fragments.  In 
a  few  seconds  more  the  sound  reaches  you 
from  a  mile  or  more  across  the  valley. 
At  first  it  is  a  crashing  sound,  like  an  ex 
plosion  ;  then  down  the  valley  you  hear  an 
other  sound  like  it  in  length  of  time,  only 
fainter;  then  a  third  in  some  other  quarter, 
and  more  faint — all  produced  by  the  same 
falling  mass. 

ADVANTAGES  OF  A  WINTER  VISIT 

There  are  some  real  advantages  in  a  visit 
to  the  Yosemite  valley  in  winter ;  there  can 
be  no  doubt  on  this  point.  There  is  nothing 
in  the  scenery  that  can  be  more  imposing 
in  summer  than  winter,  except  this,  that 
there  is  more  water  flowing  over  the  falls  in 
summer,  and  there  are  better  mirror  views 
in  the  waters  of  the  little  Mirror  Lake  and 
the  river  in  the  valley.  There  can  be  no 
advantage  in  the  summer  verdure  of  this 
region,  either  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  val 
ley  or  the  journey  through  the  Sierras  to  it, 
for  the  trees  are,  nearly  all  of  them,  ever 
green — two  kinds  of  pine,  fir,  cedar,  several 
varieties  of  live  oak,  and  many  shrubs  and 
bushes — and  a  grand  old  forest  of  such  mag 
nificent  trees  as  this  is  certainly  a  better 

289 


THE  YOSEMITE  VALLEY 

sight  clothed  in  snow  than  under  any  other 
possible  circumstances.  Then  the  ice  phe 
nomena  of  the  falls,  both  its  appearance  and 
the  sounds,  as  of  distant  battles  of  artillery, 
form  a  positive  part  of  the  enjoyment  of  a 
winter  visit,  and,  of  course,  cannot  be  en 
joyed  at  other  seasons.  And  the  disad 
vantages  of  snow  in  the  valley  are  of  no 
consequence,  unless  the  snow  is  very  deep. 
We  ascended,  without  the  slightest  diffi 
culty,  the  trail  to  the  top  of  Columbia  rock, 
1,500  feet  above  the  level  of  the  valley,  from 
which  point  we  got  such  a  view  of  the  can 
yon  as  cannot  be  told  for  its  very  awful- 
ness,  and  we  might  have  visited  others,  and, 
indeed,  all  the  trails,  had  the  snow  not  been 
quite  so  deep.  We  would  have  made  other 
ascents  had  not  our  time  in  the  valley  been 
limited. 

The  Yosemite  Falls  were  small  as  to 
amount  of  water,  but  very  beautiful  and 
wonderful.  The  Bridal  Veil  Falls  presented 
a  mass  of  colossal  icicles,  several  hundred 
feet  in  height  and  so  deep  from  front  to  back 
and  of  such  purity  as  to  give  a  deep  bluish 
green  color,  the  true  color  of  deep  pure  wa 
ter.  The  mass  did  not  look  white  like  ordi 
nary  icicles  —  and  the  greenish  blue  color 
was  phenomenally  vivid. 

We  stopped  at  the  Leidig  Hotel.  The 
proprietor  was  so  surprised  and  flattered  by 

290 


IN  WINTER 

such  winter  visitors  that  he  treated  us  to  a 
dinner  of  turkey  and  champagne  on  Wash 
ington's  birthday. 

NO    DANGER    FROM    COLD 

There  is  no  danger,  and  need  be  no  suf 
fering  from  cold.  The  temperature  on  the 
top  of  the  Sierras  at  this  point  is  never  com 
parable  with  that  of  Chicago  in  coldness. 
This  is  February,  we  were  over  a  week  in 
the  mountains,  much  of  the  time  5,000  feet 
or  more  above  sea-level,  and  the  tempera 
ture  was  not  lower  than  four  degrees  above 
zero,  the  low  point  being  a  short  time  just 
before  daylight.  The  days  have  given  us 
a  thermometer  range  of  twenty  to  forty  de 
grees  above  zero,  and  we  did  not  suffer  a 
particle  from  cold.  Then  the  abuse  of  horse 
flesh  in  plowing  through  the  snow  cannot 
be  so  real  as  it  seemed  to  us.  Our  horses 
were  with  us  and  worked  for  us  every  day  of 
our  trip ;  they  did  not  seem  to  be  injured  by 
their  trial ;  every  morning  they  would  come 
up  fresh  as  larks,  and  when  finally  we  got 
out  of  the  snow,  and  they  were  harnessed  to 
the  stage,  they  dashed  off  like  the  blooded 
stock  of  Kentucky.  Nevertheless,  the  task 
they  performed  would  just  about  kill  any 
horse  with  which  I  am  acquainted  in  Chi 
cago.  The  owners  of  these  animals  repeat- 

291 


THE  YOSEMITE  VALLEY 

edly  assured  us  that  it  would  not  hurt  them, 
and  that  they  were  used  to  such  work. 

I  would  not  advise  any  one  in  the  east  to 
go  to  California  in  winter  for  the  purpose 
of  seeing  the  Yosemite  at  that  time;  per 
haps  ladies  had  better  be  advised  not  to  go 
to  the  valley  at  all  in  winter.  But,  if  any 
stout  man  finds  himself  on  the  Pacific  coast 
in  winter,  and  would  like  to  visit  this  region 
— as  everyone  must — he  need  not  be  de 
terred  in  the  least  by  any  snow  of  a  less 
depth  than  three  feet.  The  trip  will  be  a 
good  adventure  for  him,  his  appetite  will 
improve,  and  he  will  increase  in  vigor  from 
the  hour  he  starts,  and  he  will  surely  get 
into  the  valley  and  out  again,  unless  a  snow 
storm  should  come  on.  There  is  no  danger 
in  this,  and  it  need  not  worry  anyone  who  is 
not  in  haste  to  get  home.  He  can  get  through 
if  he  will  take  time.  One  who  must  posi 
tively  get  back  from  the  trip  on  a  certain 
day,  that  gives  no  surplusage  for  delays 
and  accidents,  had  better  not  attempt  the 
task  in  winter. 


292 


A  Program  for  America 


A  Program  for  America* 


The  greatest  stress  should  now  and 
permanently  be  placed  on  some  program,  if 
there  be  such,  that  promises  progressively 
and  permanently  to  make  the  world  a  better 
place  for  mankind  to  live  in. 

There  is  such  a  program  with  such  a 
promise,  and  it  comprises  those  forces  that 
may  help  toward  the  prolongation  of  human 
life.  The  average  length  of  life  is  the  one 
and  only  sure  index  of  whether  the  world  is 
growing  better;  it  is  the  unemotional  but 
inexorable  measuring  rod  of  real  social  prog 
ress  that  can  be  told  in  figures.  Other 
standards  of  measurement  there  are,  but 
they  are  mostly  vague,  and  founded  largely 


*The  Editors  of  the  American  Journal  of  Sociology  asked 
for  contributions  from  a  large  number  of  American  citizens — 
"typical  Americans"  as  they  put  it — in  answer  to  this  question: 
With  a  view  to  the  interests  not  primarily  of  individuals  or 
of  classes;  considering  not  merely  the  next  decade  nor  the 
next  generation  nor  the  next  century,  but  having  in  mind 
our  relationships  both  to  one  another  and  to  our  successors 
for  many  centuries;  upon  what  ideals,  policies,  programs, 
or  specinc  purposes  should  Americans  place  most  stress  in 
the  immediate  futuref 

This  article  is  the  contribution  of  the  present  author. 

295 


A  PROGRAM  FOR  AMERICA 

on  faith  and  hope.    Here  is  one  that  is  based 
on  definite  statistical  facts. 

It  is  axiomatic  that  if  people  are  less  often 
hurried  early  out  of  the  world,  it  must  be 
proof  that  the  world  is  growing  better  to 
live  in.  To  live  is  the  universal  hope; 
to  escape  death  the  universal  wish.  To 
lengthen  human  life  satisfies  a  world  desire ; 
all  people  seek  long  life,  and  comfort  and  se 
curity — as  well  as  a  sense  of  security.  To 
fight  off  death  is  instinctive  from  childhood 
to  age;  to  fight  it  off  effectively  is  to  have 
less  sickness,  fewer  accidents,  less  danger 
of  every  sort ;  orderly,  perfect  and  continu 
ing  means  of  sustenance  and  comfort. 

Since  this  is  the  spontaneous  desire  and 
effort  of  the  race,  rather  nugatory  because 
poorly  directed  and  generally  unorganized, 
why  not  make  it  the  definitive  program  of 
social  effort,  and  have  it  properly  organized 
and  directed? 

The  world  is  better  if  it  enables  us  to  live 
long,  but  length  of  days  is  not  the  only 
pleasure  in  living  on  earth;  there  are  many 
beside,  only  all  the  other  wholesome  ones 
result  from  and  are  connected  with  the  very 
influences  that  elongate  the  average  span  of 
life.  Those  experiences  of  pleasure  that 
shorten  life  are  an  ultimate  curse,  and  can 
not  form  any  part  of  a  proper  program  of 
society. 

296 


A  PROGRAM  FOR  AMERICA 

The  program  here  formulated  is  a  large 
one,  and  embraces  many  elements  and 
forces,  but  the  ideal  is  extremely  simple — 
prolong  human  life.  The  ideal  is  not  fanci 
ful  but  practical,  and  when  carried  out 
means  always  an  orderly  state  of  society, 
good  government,  and  so  protection  for  per 
sons  and  property,  as  well  as  for  personal 
rights.  A  weak  or  unstable  government 
could  not  realize  the  ideal,  for  it  could  not 
insure  permanence  of  policy,  which  is  vital 
to  its  perfect  realization. 

It  means  conservation  of  personal  interests 
and  weal;  it  means  the  compelling  of  per 
sons  to  avoid  excesses,  recklessness  and  the 
invasion  of  the  rights  of  others — it  means 
that,  in  certain  things,  men  shall  be  com 
pelled  to  be  good  and  avoid  being  bad. 

It  means  a  thousand  safeguards  of  per 
sonal  and  public  health,  both  affirmative  and 
prohibitive,  such  as:  (1)  safety  devices  and 
education  in  and  about  them ;  (2)  whole 
some  hygienic  conditions  for  all  people;  (3) 
everlasting  watchfulness  and  war  on  the 
microbic  causes  of  disease  and  death,  war 
against  the  carriers  of  disease  germs — as 
rats,  flies,  mosquitos,  fleas  and  many  other 
animate  and  inanimate  things.  It  includes 
(4)  prevention  by  argument,  suasion  and  the 
force  of  law,  from  personal  excesses,  and 
recklessness  that  can  harm  the  individual  or 
297 


A  PROGRAM  FOR  AMERICA 

others,  or  can  shorten  any  life.  Of  such 
examples  are  the  excessive  use  of  alcohol, 
and  the  use  of  other  poisons  of  the  brain, 
like  opium  and  its  products,  cocaine,  chloral 
and  other  narcotics.  Among  the  harmful 
defections  are  the  sexual  excesses  that 
spread  disease,  of  which  there  at  least  two 
that  kill  thousands  of  people  and  cripple 
other  millions,  and  that  break  up  or  imperil 
the  interests  of  family  life,  and  blight  the 
lives  of  countless  children.  It  means  more, 
and  more  general  education,  especially  in  all 
things  that  help  toward  the  longest  life  and 
the  largest  life-totality  of  pleasure. 

The  influence  of  this  ideal  is  toward  more 
amity  among  all  people,  more  friendships, 
truer  altruism,  higher  spirituality,  better  and 
fairer  religions;  for  it  is  in  line  with  that 
foundation  stone  of  the  highest  ethics — and 
so  the  basis  of  law — namely,  respect  for  the 
rights  and  laudable  desires  of  others. 

This  ideal  tends  against  war.  It  stands 
for  the  interests  and  safety  of  all  the  people 
as  a  first  consideration,  and  against  the 
whims  or  selfish  interests  of  the  one  or  the 
few  that  happen  to  be  in  power,  whether  a 
king  or  an  oligarchy.  It  means  democracy 
of  the  best  sort. 

War  might  be  necessary  to  safeguard  such 
a  civilization,  and  peoples  committed  to  such 
high  purposes  would  certainly  be  virile,  and 

298 


A  PROGRAM  FOR  AMERICA 

capable  under  all  ordinary  circumstances  of 
defending  themselves,  and  compelling  good 
conduct  in  others. 

War  might  for  a  time  interfere  with  the 
systematic  efforts  to  prolong  life,  but  a  peo 
ple  once  committed  comprehensively  to  such 
a  policy  could  not  give  it  up,  unless  abso 
lutely  destroyed  or  forced  back  into  chaos. 
Moreover,  war  might  be  necessary  for  the 
better  realization  of  the  life  program,  for  the 
removal  of  obstacles  or  for  the  chastisement 
of  menacing  peoples  guilty  of  flagrant  viola 
tion  of  its  principles.  The  program  does 
not  imply  disarmament  and  non-resistance, 
but  the  contrary. 

If  the  average  life  were  prolonged  and  the 
birth  rate  remained  stationary,  would  not 
the  race  become  overcrowded?  That  is  a 
contingency  that  would  take  care  of  itself, 
but  the  birthrate  ought  to  be  curtailed 
wherever  the  coming  of  children  would 
shorten  the  lives  of  parents  or  offspring. 

The  concise  ideal,  the  program  to  try  sys 
tematically  to  prolong  life  by  every  means 
possible — and  the  vital  statistics  of  many 
American  cities  today  show  fairly  well  what 
measures  do  prolong  life — leads  to  all  the 
really  good  things  in  life,  the  wholesome, 
sane  and  sensible  things ;  and  to  the  avoid 
ance  of  the  bad  things — the  excesses,  the 

299 


A  PROGRAM  FOR  AMERICA 

intemperance  of  many  varieties,  the  reck 
lessness  and  abandon,  and  careless  or  selfish 
disregard  of  the  rights  of  others. 

The  ramifications  of  the  influence  of  this 
program  are  as  wide  as  the  activities  of  the 
human  race.  There  is  no  other  policy  or 
single  aim,  religious,  economic,  political, 
ethical,  educational  or  what  not,  that  is  so 
comprehensive,  so  all-inclusive,  or  that  can 
appeal  to  so  many  of  the  American  people 
(whether  they  know  it  or  not),  and  to  all  en 
lightened  people  everywhere. 

NOTE:  The  death  rate  indicates  the  longevity.  In  Norway 
the  average  life  rose  in  10  years  from  49.94  years  to  52.17. 
In  Prussia  the  average  rose  in  30  years  from  34.4  years  to 
48.2.  The  averages  for  women  are  3%  years  greater  than  for 
men.  Recent  records  give  Sweden  52.3,  Norway  52.2,  France 
47.4,  Belgium  47.1,  England  45.9,  U.  S.  45.3,  Italy  43,  Ger 
many  42.2.  The  death  rate  in  this  country  averaged  recently 
16.5  per  1,000  annually;  in  Michigan  it  was  14,  in  New  York 
18;  in  London  it  was  15,  and  had  fallen  in  two  centuries  from 
45.  The  rate  in  Havana  before  the  American  occupation  was 
50,  afterward  it  fell  to  about  20. 

TWO  centuries  ago  the  average  life  was  increasing  about  4 
years  per  century;  sixty  years  ago  it  had  risen  to  9  years; 
since  then  it  has  reached  about  17. 

In  New  York  30  years  ago  the  expectancy  for  children  un 
der  5  was  41  years,  in  1913,  52  years;  for  men  of  25  to  30 
years  it  was  32.06,  in  1913,  34.03;  for  men  of  40  to  45  years 
it  was  23.9,  in  1913,  23.4;  and  for  men  of  85  it  is  3^4  years 
less  than  it  was  30  years  ago. 

These  last  figures  show  that  America  is  at  least  a  better 
place  to  be  born  and  raised  in  than  it  was  formerly.  But  they 
show  that  the  expectancy  of  life  is  decreasing  rather  than 
increasing  after  the  so-called  middle  period  is  reached.  There 
are  two  possible  causes  of  this  fact,  one  is  the  survival  of  many 
children  that  formerly  were  lost,  the  other  must  be  the  de 
generating  effect  of  the  luxury  and  indulgence  of  modern  arti 
ficial  life.  The  lesson  of  the  facts  is  unavoidable;  live  more 
simple  and  hygienic  lives. 


300 


The  Prevention  of  Railroad  Acci 
dents  Due  to  the  Personal 
Equation 


The  Prevention  of  Railroad  Acci 
dents  Due  to  the  Personal 
Equation* 


Can  some  railroad  and  other  accidents 
affecting  human  life,  due  to  personal  error 
or  miscalculation  and  heretofore  mysterious, 
be  explained  by  the  constitution  of  the  hu 
man  mind?  If  they  can  be  so  explained, 
they  are  to  some  extent  preventable. 

By  other  accidents  than  those  of  railroads 
I  mean  such  as  occur  in  the  work  of  drivers, 
telegraphers,  pilots,  and  surgeons.  The 
reasoning  that  applies  to  the  one  applies  to 
the  other. 

When  we  consider  the  nature  of  railroad 
accidents  we  discover  them  to  fall  into  a 
natural  classification :  First  are  those  due 
to  defective  material,  as  broken  wheels,  rods, 
bridges,  viaducts,  etc.,  bursting  boilers,  and 
defective  brakes.  Next  are  those  due  to  the 


*Read  at   a  convention   of   Railroad   Surgeons  at   Chicago, 
and  printed  in  "Medicine,"  November,   1898. 

303 


PREVENTION  OF 

elements  and  the  earth,  as  from  the  sinking 
of  tracks,  the  washing  away  of  bridges ; 
from  ice,  snow,  freshets,  storms,  wind,  and 
fire.  Lastly,  and  most  interesting  of  all, 
and  most  deplorable,  are  those  due  to  what 
may  be  called  the  personal  equation.  These 
fall  into  two  or  three  sub-classes :  First  are 
those  due  to  failure  of  deliberate  judgment, 
as  miscalculation  of  materials  in  bridges, 
misjudgment  of  the  force  of  motive  power 
and  resisting  power,  and  the  like.  Second 
are  those  due  to  sudden  loss  of  self-control 
on  the  part  of  operatives,  from  fright,  ex 
citement,  from  panic  and  nervous  stamped 
ing;  also  from  intense  preoccupation,  with 
an  accidental  situation.  The  train  breaks 
down,  and  in  the  excitement  both  conductor 
and  brakeman  forget  about  putting  signals 
on  the  track  to  the  rear  of  the  train,  and  so 
a  rear-end  collision  results.  Third  are  those 
accidents  due  to  absent-mindedness — the 
lack  of  mental  attention  to  the  thing  in  hand 
when  the  thing  is  important.  A  man  leaves 
a  switch  turned  wrong  from  this  cause,  for 
gets  to  put  out  the  proper  signal,  and  trains 
collide.  An  engineer  runs  past  a  signal  to 
stop,  and  a  collision  occurs  like  that  in  Kan 
sas  recently.  A  man  has  in  mind  for  an 
hour  and  pays  strict  attention  to  the  thought 
that  he  must  flag  an  approaching  train,  and 
then  forgets  to  do  it.  There  is  no  impeach- 
304 


RAILROAD  ACCIDENTS 

ing  of  the  intentions  and  honor  of  the  opera 
tives  in  these  cases.  The  engineer  who 
missed  the  signal  was  killed,  and  life  was  as 
precious  to  him  as  to  other  men. 

It  is  this  last  variety  of  accidents  and  the 
mental  state  leading  to  them  that  will  be 
mainly  considered  here.  All  other  classes  of 
calamities  are  measurably  manageable,  or 
rather  they  can  be  calculated — at  least  they 
can  be  understood ;  even  those  due  to  sud 
den  stampeding  are  not  difficult  of  explana 
tion,  and  something  can  be  done — and  much 
has  been  done — to  prevent  them. 

The  cases  due  to  absent-mindedness  are 
most  perplexing;  they  constitute  a  class  lit 
tle  understood,  always  uncertain,  never  to 
be  predicted  or  calculated  upon  in  the  slight 
est  degree.  The  basis  of  the  likelihood  of 
their  happening  has  seemed  to  be  an  un 
known  quantity,  and  we  are  left  to  deplore  a 
helplessness  to  correct  them. 

Whenever  such  a  calamity  occurs  we  are 
aghast  with  amazement  and  wonder,  and 
resolve  that  everybody  must  thereafter  be 
very  careful  to  the  end  that  such  accidents 
shall  not  recur.  To  those  who  stand  aghast, 
the  accident  does  not  occur  again,  at  least 
while  their  amazement  lasts ;  but  the  rest  of 
the  world  is  quite  uninfluenced  by  the 
calamity. 

The  greatest  care  on  the  part  of  railroad 
305 


PREVENTION  OF 

managers  seems  to  have  failed  to  eliminate 
this  mental  element  from  railroad  opera 
tions.  Numerous  checks  of  great  value 
have  been  instituted  whereby  two  or  three 
persons  must  take  part  in  certain  acts  and 
transactions,  to  prevent  a  possible  accident, 
as  in  the  nature  of  the  sending,  receiving 
and  execution  of  telegraphic  orders  for  the 
movement  of  trains.  But  the  flagman  stands 
alone — nobody  keeps  watch  to  check  him  if 
he  forgets,  nor  very  much  the  engineer 
while  actually  running  his  train,  nor  the 
brakeman  putting  out  his  signal,  nor  the 
switchman,  nor,  always,  the  train  dispatcher. 
These  men,  to  a  degree,  work  alone,  and  any 
time  a  moment  of  forgetfulness,  confusion 
or  absent-mindedness  may  lead  to  a  calam 
ity.  How  to  eliminate  this  danger  is  the 
problem — a  problem  doubtless  incapable  of 
complete  solution  ever. 

If  there  were  some  way  of  knowing  who 
is  more  and  who  less  likely  to  be  seized 
with  such  a  wave  of  mental  abstraction,  it 
would  be  something;  or  if  we  knew  under 
exactly  what  circumstances  such  lapses  are 
likely  to  occur  to  any  man,  that  would  help 
greatly.  The  startling  thing  is  that  such 
lapses  often  come  to  the  oldest,  most  sedate 
and  correct,  and  most  tried  and  trusted  em 
ployes,  and  at  times  when  there  is  not  the 
slightest  reason  to  doubt  their  usual  effi- 

306 


RAILROAD  ACCIDENTS 

ciency ;  when  they  are  neither  sick  nor  tired 
nor  overworked,  nor  disturbed  by  any  dis 
tracting  influence  which  their  fellows  know 
about. 

Some  things  bearing  on  this  subject  we 
do  know :  for  example,  distracting  the  at 
tention  of  the  engineer  or  motorman  is  liable 
to  lead  him  into  trouble,  and  so  passengers 
are  forbidden  to  ride  with  the  one  or  talk 
with  the  other.  The  common  danger  ot 
being  confused  by  too  many  distracting 
duties  or  influences  is  well  enough  under 
stood  and  is  guarded  against  as  far  as  pos 
sible  by  protection  from  interruption,  short 
hours,  and  opportunity  for  rest.  Constant 
mental  attention  with  absolute  singleness 
of  purpose  to  the  thing  in  hand  is  evidently 
the  supreme  desideratum.  But  frequently 
influences  creep  in  that  cannot  be  barred  out 
by  any  rules,  that  the  individual  himself  per 
haps  could  not  prevent,  as  for  example,  per 
sonal  worries,  physical  discomforts,  and 
emotional  disturbances  of  various  kinds.  One 
waft  through  the  mind  of  jealousy  or  envy, 
one  personal  pique  to  worry  about,  may 
break  fatally  into  any  systematic  mental 
action  and  completely  derail  the  attention. 
One  fit  of  indigestion,  especially  if  it  causes 
despondency  of  mind,  will  kill  all  reliable 
mental  attention.  A  man  so  afflicted  will 
read  a  page  of  a  book  and  ten  minutes  later 

307 


PREVENTION  OF 

be  unable  to  tell  a  thing  it  contained;  he 
would  in  that  mood  be  an  unsafe  engineer. 
Every  physician  sees  repeated  cases  of  peo 
ple  with  this  sort  of  mental  abstraction  so 
serious  that  they  seek  advice  for  it.  They 
think  they  are  losing  their  minds  and  all 
that ;  they  notice  that  they  forget  and  worry 
and  are  easily  upset  and  nonplussed.  They 
may  have  indisposition  or  other  bodily  dis 
order  that  produces  the  worry  in  part;  but 
worry  may  aggravate  the  bodily  disorder, 
and  so  each  phase  of  the  trouble  accentuates 
the  other.  Many  of  these  patients  know 
they  are  unfit  for  business,  and  abstention 
from  business  is  often  prescribed  for  them. 
But  from  this  extreme  degree  of  trouble  to 
the  normal  type  of  men  there  are  all  grada 
tions  of  disorder,  and  many  of  the  milder 
cases  are  going  on  with  their  work,  whatever 
it  is,  and  nobody  supposes  them  to  be  ab 
normal.  They  are  making  all  sorts  and 
shades  of  mistakes,  with  every  variety  of 
consequences. 

There  is  another  cause  of  such  lapses  of 
attention  as  lead  to  accidents,  which  is  sub 
stantially  never  thought  of,  and  it  occurs  to 
men  who  are  in  perfect  physical  health  and 
have  no  unavoidable  worries.  It  is  the  very 
expertness,  and  the  perfection  of  mastery  a 
man  has  in  the  expert  thing  or  the  responsi 
ble  duty  he  has  to  do.  Great  familiarity 

308 


RAILROAD  ACCIDENTS 

with  such  a  duty,  expertness  and  deftness  in 
its  performance,  become  dangerous  to  that 
mental  attention  to  the  thing  in  hand  that 
is  so  necessary.  So,  quickness  and  ease  of 
learning  become  a  danger  rather  than  a 
benefit.  A  telegraph  operator  who  learned 
the  business  very  easily  was  a  phenomenal 
worker,  could,  so  to  speak,  do  his  work 
without  thinking,  and  for  years  had  never 
made  an  error.  One  day,  as  a  train  dis 
patcher,  he  confused  the  names  of  stations 
and  caused  a  collision. 

A  careful  consideration  of  this  subject 
must  show  the  indispensable  importance  of 
mental  attention  to  any  expert  work  or  re 
sponsibility.  Failure  of  attention  to  the 
details  leads  to  the  accident  or  loss.  The 
attention  must  be  constant.  In  various  in 
dustries  of  life  this  is  important,  and  most 
where  one  acts  for  others  and  especially  for 
many;  where,  in  case  of  failure,  the  injury 
would  be  widespread.  These  are  what  may 
be  not  unfitly  called  hazard-  or  danger- 
duties.  How  to  secure  constant  attention  to 
these  is  the  supreme  question.  What  makes 
the  attention  to  the  important  thing  in  hand 
always  alert?  What  leads  it  to  flag?  The 
subject  on  which  we  wish  to  fix  and  keep 
the  attention  is  only  one  of  many  impres 
sions  coming  into  the  mind  and  already  in 
it.  How  may  all  other  thoughts  be  thrown 
309 


PREVENTION  OF 

to  the  background  and  kept  there  till  the 
task  is  over? 

The  subject  is  a  large  one.  When  the  act 
is  a  novel  one  and  has  to  be  learned,  is 
being  learned,  and  there  is  pride  and  interest 
in  acquiring  it,  attention  may  be  constant 
for  a  long  time ;  but  finally  the  interest  often 
flags  and  falls  from  fatigue.  A  sense  of  re 
sponsibility  helps  to  keep  it  up,  but  as  the 
maneuver  becomes  familiar  less  attention  is 
required  to  do  it,  and  so  less  is  given,  and 
there  is  a  chance  for  the  attention  to  be 
fixed  on  other  things,  and  so  in  grave  mat 
ters  there  is  danger.  As  long  as  the  awful- 
ness  of  the  duty  the  omission  of  which  may 
kill  is  kept  fresh  in  the  mind  there  is  no 
omission ;  the  duty  is  done  to  the  letter.  But 
the  average  man  cannot  perpetually  keep 
his  mind  keyed  up  to  this  pitch  during  his 
hours  on  duty.  The  awful  duty  will  grow 
less  awful  by  repetition.  We  can  walk  and 
think ;  we  could  not  always  do  this,  but 
every  successive  step  had  to  be  thought  of 
and  directed.  Not  having  to  think  of  the 
steps  of  our  walking,  we  may  think  of  all 
sorts  of  subjects  and  walk  as  well. 

If  one  can  walk  and  think  independently, 
then  an  expert  can  run  a  locomotive  and 
much  of  the  time — not  all  the  time — think 
intently  of  other  things — men  sometimes  do 
this  and  miss  signals  and  forget  orders,  and 

310 


RAILROAD  ACCIDENTS 

so  a  crash  comes.  The  Kansas  case  of  re 
cent  date  was  evidently  one  of  this  sort. 

The  more  automatic,  that  is,  the  more  per 
fect,  the  man  becomes  in  his  special  task,  the 
more  likely  is  he  therein  and  thereby  to 
have  mental  abstractions  and  so  forget  and 
blunder.  If  this  task  were  one  that  could  be 
trusted  solely  to  his  automatism,  like  a  com 
plicated  piece  of  music  that  one  becomes 
artistically  mechanical  in  executing  and  that 
should  be  done  every  time  in  exactly  the 
same  way,  the  automatism  might  be  trusted, 
but  unfortunately  the  railroad  operative  has 
always  to  use  some  judgment  and  sense  and 
watchfulness  with  his  automatism,  for  the 
situations  daily  vary  a  little,  if  only  a  little, 
and  here  is  where  he  sometimes  fails.  And, 
other  things  being  equal,  the  more  perfect 
his  automatism  and  the  more  oft  repetition 
has  taught  him  that  the  act  is  a  matter  of 
course — the  more  familiar  he  is  with  it — the 
more  likely  he  is  to  be  the  victim  of  abstrac 
tions  and  .absent-mindedness.  If  he  has 
other  things  on  his  mind  or  is  given  to  day 
dreaming,  he  is  always  in  danger  of  forget 
ting. 

So,  awful  a  thing  as  it  seems  to  say,  the 
oldest,  most  trusted  and  by  the  records  the 
most  reliable  employe,  may  be,  and  often  is, 
more  likely  to  bring  on  a  frightful  accident 

311 


PREVENTION  OF 

than  the  youngest  one  who  has  attained  the 
same  service  and  rank. 

The  capacity  to  learn  rapidly,  to  be  deft 
easily,  is  a  dangerous  gift ;  for  it  reduces  the 
need  of  attention  to  the  task,  and  increases 
the  facility  with  which  two  combinations  of 
thought  can  be  carried  on  in  the  mind  at  the 
same  time.  The  most  treacherous  exercise 
of  all  is  to  think  of  two  things  at  once  when 
the  one  is  vital ;  the  only  safe  course  is  to 
think  constantly  of  the  one  vital  thing. 
There  are  more  fortunate  gifts  than  mental 
quickness  and  precocity,  and  one  of  them 
sometimes  is  mental  slowness.  That  man, 
chagrined  at  his  dulness,  who  learns  slowly 
to  be  an  expert  is  lucky,  for  then  he  ac 
quires  the  habit  of  close  mental  attention 
to  the  thing  in  hand  and  the  thing  that  he 
is  charged  with.  To  him  the  habit  is  more 
likely  to  stay  after  the  act  has  become  auto 
matic,  and  so  he  may  be  spared  a  calamity 
from  absent-mindedness. 

Probably  no  class  in  the  community  is 
more  obnoxious  to  this  misfortune  than 
doctors.  Efforts  to  carry  on  at  the  same 
time  two  lines  of  thought  have  led  them  to 
errors  in  prescription  writing  and  to  blun 
ders  in  surgery  that  would  be  more  amus 
ing  if  they  were  less  calamitous.  But  the 
surgeon  whose  blunders  are  likely  to  be 
most  fatal  is  often  saved  by  the  fact  that 
312 


RAILROAD  ACCIDENTS 

hardly  two  of  his  operations  are  exactly 
alike — he  is  most  apt  to  slip  in  those  manip 
ulations  that  are  most  similar,  when  his 
hands  may  act  without  his  constant  and 
reasoned  thought. 

What  remedy  can  be  offered  for  the  diffi 
culties  here  outlined?  For  some  of  the  dan 
gers  to  railroad  employes,  which  have  been 
referred  to,  there  is  evidently  one  course 
that  will  eliminate  to  a  considerable  degree 
the  peril  from  too  much  familiarity  with 
the  occupation  or  too  much  expertness. 
That  is,  occasionally  and  systematically  to 
lay  off  old  and  quick  employes  or  give  them 
other  kinds  of  work  for  stated  periods,  so 
that  they  may  come  back  to  their  danger- 
duties  a  trifle  strange  to  them  and  therefore 
obliged  to  exercise  more  constant  and  steady 
attention.  The  novelty  and  strangeness  will, 
as  long  as  they  last,  tend  to  keep  other 
thoughts  than  the  vital  ones  in  abeyance, 
and  so  safety  will  be  enhanced. 

It  is  matter  for  regret  that  statistics  have 
not  been  gathered  to  show  whether  men 
coming  back  to  their  work  from  absences  of 
variable  periods  are  more  or  less  liable  to 
blunder  than  similar  operatives  who  have 
been  continuously  at  their  work.  I  have  no 
doubt  that  such  statistics  would  show  that 
the  vacations  are  protective. 

I  am  aware  that  such  a  proposition  as  is 
313 


RAILROAD  ACCIDENTS 

here  made  will  strike  the  average  railroad 
manager  as  absurd,  and  the  faithful  opera 
tives  might  easily  consider  it  an  affront  to 
their  efficiency  and  good  intentions.  But 
managers  have  not  succeeded  in  curtailing 
much  the  class  of  accidents  under  discus 
sion,  nor  are  they  likely  to  succeed  by  meth 
ods  heretofore  in  use ;  for  the  constitution  of 
the  human  mind  will  not  change,  nor  can 
we  hope  that  its  limitations  will  vary  much 
with  any  amount  of  effort.  And  to  say  that 
a  man's  capacity  for  mental  attention  should 
be  rested  at  intervals,  if  it  has  been  over 
worked,  is  no  more  an  insult  to  him  than  to 
say  he  should  rest  his  body  by  repose  and 
his  whole  brain  by  sleep.  Our  difficulty 
over  the  question  is  due  to  the  novelty  of  it. 
The  daily  need  of  sleep  is  an  axiom  every 
human  being  has  proven  experimentally. 
Many  have  proven  that  short  hours  and  oc 
casional  vacations  renew  and  increase  one's 
capacity  for  mental  labor  of  the  highest 
sort ;  and  two-thirds  of  the  gain  is  always  in 
the  resting  of  the  faculty — if  it  may  be 
called  a  faculty — of  mental  attention.  Why, 
then,  should  it  seem  strange  that  benefit 
would  come  from  resting  this  faculty,  over 
worked  and  fatigued  in  occupations  of  less 
purely  intellectual  kinds? 


314 


The  Mastodon 


The  Mastodon* 


It  is  a  good  thing  to  have  good  manners, 
and  good  manners  dictate  that  in  describing 
the  members  of  a  family  we  speak  of  the 
most  elderly  first;  this  shows  a  proper  re 
gard  for  age.  Accordingly  we  begin  the 
history  of  our  "happy  family"t  by  paying 
our  respects  to  the  mastodon,  for  I  believe 
he  has  existed  much  longer  than  any  other 
member.  Some  men  say  his  age  is  thirty 
thousand  years ;  others  put  it  at  four  or  five 
thousand.  We  will  take  a  middle  place  and 
guess  he  may  have  seen  six  thousand  years. 

Think  of  it!  A  hundred  years  is  a  long 
lifetime ;  what  of  a  thousand ;  what  of  six 
thousand !  How  short-lived  and  little  we 
are! 

I  told  you  the  animals  in  our  collection 
were  stuffed  and  that  you  could  see  only 
their  skins.  This  is  true  of  a  large  part  of 
them,  but  not  of  the  mastodon ;  him  you  see 

*From  "The  Bright  Side,  a  Paper  for  all  Children,"  Feb 
ruary,  1870. 

fAt  the  Museum  of  the  Chicago  Academy  of  Sciences. 

317 


THE  MASTODON 

only  in  his  bones.  His  skeleton,  strongly 
bound  together  and  supported  by  irons, 
stands  erect  to  show  us  something  of  the 
monsters  of  times  gone  by ;  but  his  skin  and 
the  flesh  of  his  body  have  gone  to  their 
native  dust  ages  and  ages  ago.  So  long 
have  his  bones  been  bereft  of  .their  natural 
covering  that  they  are  stained  brown  by  the 
iron  they  have  absorbed  from  the  earth  in 
which  they  were  entombed ;  for  it  is  only  a 
few  years  since  they  were  found  and 
brought  to  the  light;  all  the  time  before, 
they  have  been  safely  stowed  away  under 
the  ground. 

When  alive,  this  animal  probably  looked 
very  much  like  the  elephant.  I  say  probably, 
for  no  man  on  earth  today  ever  saw  a  living 
mastodon ;  he  belongs  to  what  are  called 
extinct  animals — that  is,  animals  which  for 
merly  lived  but  which  have  all  passed  away, 
centuries  ago.  Yes,  from  his  skeleton,  he 
must  have  resembled  very  much  the  ele 
phants  you  see  in  the  menagerie,  only  he 
was  a  great  deal  larger  and  more  massive. 
His  bones  are  almost  twice  as  heavy  as 
those  of  the  elephant. 

Tom  Thumb  is  a  man;  he  looks  like  a 
man  and  acts  like  a  man,  but  in  height  he  is 
not  much  of  a  man  after  all.  The  elephant 
is  like  the  mastodon,  but  in  size  is  like  a 
baby  compared  with  it. 

318 


THE  MASTODON 

This  great  beast  had  a  trunk,  long  tusks 
and  a  very  heavy  and  sluggish  body  indeed ; 
he  must  have  been  very  homely,  very  awk 
ward  and  uncouth,  but  God  had  a  purpose 
in  his  creation  as  truly  as  He  had  for  the 
most  beautiful  of  His  creatures.  I  believe 
this  purpose  was  accomplished. 

How  large  is  the  mastodon,  do  you  ask? 

Let  one  tall  man  stand  on  another  tall 
man's  head ;  let  both  stand  on  tiptoes  and 
let  the  upper  one  stretch  out  his  neck  as 
much  as  he  can,  and  he  could  not  quite  look 
over  the  back  of  the  largest  mastodon.  He 
has  a  skull  as  large  as  a  small  cook-stove, 
and  in  shape  not  very  unlike  it,  and  his  leg 
bones,  in  some  parts,  are  as  big  as  large 
stove-pipes.  Some  of  his  teeth  are  so  long 
that  they  would  just  reach  across  the  three 
printed  columns  of  "The  Bright  Side." 

Could  this  pile  of  ancient  bones  speak  to 
us,  what  wonders  would  it  not  tell !  Their 
history — how  remarkable ! 

Look  back  to  the  time  before  man  was 
created.  This  animal,  so  large  to  us,  walks 
the  earth ;  the  land  is  different  from  what 
we  see  around  us ;  it  is  covered  with  strange 
trees  and  plants,  and  inhabited  by  strange 
and  long  since  extinct  animals.  There  are 
coniferous  trees — those  like  the  hemlock  and 
pine — and  many  others  of  large  size,  and 
these  the  mastodon  eats,  these  are  his  food. 

319 


THE  MASTODON 

The  trees  grow  rapidly  and  large,  and  he 
browses  among  the  tender  limbs ;  he  crushes 
the  wood  with  his  huge  teeth,  and  sucks  the 
sap  as  easily  as  we  devour  an  apple.  He 
treads  the  earth  lordly  and  proud,  it  is  true, 
but  he  has  company  of  other  gigantic  beasts. 
The  mammoth,  the  megatherium,  and  cas- 
toroides  are  his  companions ;  they  move  and 
sport,  masters  of  the  field  and  kings  of  the 
forest,  for  no  man  has  yet  lived.  The  garden 
of  Eden  is  unoccupied  and  Adam  and  Eve 
have  not  yet  eaten  that  fatal  fruit  which 
is  to  cause  so  much  trouble. 

Through  the  ages,  God  has  been  prepar 
ing  the  earth  for  the  reception  of  man,  whom 
He  is  about  to  create.  But  these  monster 
animals  are  too  large  for  man  to  cope  with, 
many  of  the  plants  are  too  large  and  coarse 
for  man  to  eat  and  use;  the  mastodon  has 
lived,  lived  long  and  done  his  work.  What 
then? 

A  great  commotion  in  the  watery  ele 
ments;  they  overspread  the  ground  where 
you  and  I  live ;  immense  seas  there  are,  and 
they  come  rushing  down  from  the  north  and 
bring  with  them  icebergs,  with  great  stones 
called  boulders,  imbedded  in  their  frozen 
bodies.  They  roll  and  tumble  against  each 
other  and  grind  to  powder  massive  rocks 
that  fall  in  among  them ;  they  make  deep 
scratches  in  the  rocks  which  they  pass  over 
320 


THE  MASTODON 

and  happen  to  strike  against  —  scratches 
which  future  centuries  shall  find  on  rocks 
lying  upon  the  surface  of  the  soil.  What 
started  on  the  journey  away  north  as  rocks 
has  been  crushed  to  common  dirt,  so  great 
has  been  the  grinding.  Everything,  it 
seems,  is  going  to  be  destroyed.  Masses 
of  earth  and  sand  and  gravel  fill  the  rush 
ing  torrent ;  these  sink  and  are  piled  high  in 
some  places,  so  that  little  hillocks  are  left 
dotted  over  the  bottom  of  the  sea:  between 
these  there  are  in  places  depressions  like 
the  beds  of  ponds,  while  the  dirt  makes  the 
soil  for  the  time  to  come.  All  this  in  geol 
ogy  is  called  the  drift  period,  and  this  earth 
that  has  been  washed  down  from  the  north 
is  called  the  drift  deposit. 

The  water  subsides;  the  land  is  much 
higher  than  before,  and  so  changed,  so  dif 
ferent!  The  mastodons  have  died  and  their 
bones  have  been  buried  here  and  there  over 
the  country.  New  plants  spring  up  like 
those  of  the  future;  new  animals  come  into 
being,  but  smaller  and  tamer  than  those 
that  lived  before — these  are  fit  to  be  the 
servants  of  man. 

And  now  man  is  created. 

Some  thousands  of  years  pass  away  and 

the    human    family    grows    and    multiplies. 

Europe  is  inhabited.     The  people  learn  to 

make  and  sail  ships;  one  man,  with  a  few 

321 


THE  MASTODON 

followers,  sails  across  an  ocean  and  discov 
ers  a  new  continent.  A  century  or  two 
pass  and  the  continent  begins  to  be  set 
tled.  Two  centuries  more  and  it  is  covered 
with  people — those  that  came  first  have 
been  in  their  graves  a  hundred  years  and 
more,  but  the  land  is  filled  with  folks. 

The  people  find  one  of  the  great  depres 
sions  in  the  drift  deposit  filled  with  water; 
it  is  a  lake ;  they  found  a  city  by  its  side  and 
call  it  Chicago.  The  country  around  is  set 
tled  by  husbandmen  who  till  the  soil  and 
beautify  the  land.  Not  far  from  this  city 
there  is  a  great  marsh,  which  has  long  been 
filled  with  stagnant  water,  and  workmen 
begin  to  dig  a  ditch  to  drain  it.  They  throw 
up  the  soft  clay  with  their  spades :  they  talk 
to  each  other  of  what  a  garden  they  will 
make  of  the  marsh  by  and  by,  what  rich  fruit 
and  golden  grain  will  grow  there,  when 
hark!  a  spade  strikes  something  solid!  A 
stone — dig  away.  No,  it  is  not  a  stone ;  what 
is  it?  They  uncover  it.  It  is  the  bones  of 
the  mastodon.  They  are  carefully  lifted  to 
the  surface;  they  are  washed  and  brought 
to  the  city  by  the  lake,  and  finally  have  a 
place  in  our  "happy  family." 

The  world,  so  old ;  your  lives  and  mine  so 
short!     We  are  a  spot — less  than  that,  a 
speck — in  the  ocean  of  things,  and  we  mark 
but  a  second  in  the  great  eternity. 
322 


THE  MASTODON 

Let  the  history  of  the  elder  brother  of 
this  "family"  cure  us  of  arrogance  and  pride, 
and  teach  us  humility. 

The  mastodon  had  his  mission  in  the 
world  antf  performed  it.  May  future  genera 
tions  say  as  much  of  the  brotherhood  of  the 
human  family  that  lives  today.  Of  this  you 
and  I  are  a  part. 


323 


An  Elderly  Woman 


An  Elderlv  Woman* 


You  were  told  that  in  our  "happy  family" 
there  was  a  woman ;  that  she  was  very  old, 
having  existed  several  hundred  years.  Good 
manners,  again,  compel  us  to  write  her  his 
tory  next,  as  she  is  next  younger  than  the 
mastodon. 

We  may  possibly  get  her  to  tell  her  own 
story;  the  mastodon  could  not  do  this,  for 
only  his  bones  are  left  us,  and  then,  you 
know  that  mastodons  cannot  talk ;  it  is  only 
men  and  women  that  talk ;  I  mean  children, 
too,  of  course,  for  they  are  the  men  and 
women  of  the  future. 

Listen  to  the  tale  of  her  life. 

She  was  born  about  300  years  ago  in  Peru, 
South  America.  She  belonged  to  the  com 
mon  people  and  her  parents  lived  in  a  hum 
ble  way  in  a  very  plain,  simple  home.  She 
was  not  born  rich,  but  ever  made  by  her 
presence  a  wealth  in  the  household  of  her 
father  and  mother.  She  was  loved  and  ca- 

^  *From  "The  Bright  Side,  a  Paper  for  all  Children,"  Chi 
cago,   March,    1870. 

327 


AN  ELDERLY  WOMAN 

ressed  and  cared  for  as  tenderly  as  are  the 
little  folks  who  live  now.  I  presume  her 
mother  thought  she  was  one  of  the  finest 
babies  in  the  world. 

She  grew  rapidly,  and  as  she  grew  her 
whole  object  seemed  to  be  to  eat  and  play; 
she  was  full  of  fun  and  frolic;  she  had  not 
the  slightest  idea  of  where  she  would  be  in 
300  years.  She  lived  in  that  portion  of  time 
called  now;  she  thought  only  of  present 
pleasure. 

How  much  like  the  children  of  today! 
Would  that  the  men  and  women  lived  as 
truly  in  the  great  now,  as  the  boys  and 
girls  do. 

Nobody  is  so  kind-hearted  to  children  and 
so  solicitous  for  their  good,  as  God  and  their 
mothers.  This  girl's  mother  was  as  kind 
and  good  as  most  mothers;  she  disliked  to 
hurt  her  child,  but  pain  must  be  once  in  a 
while  inflicted. 

Some  who  read  this  article  may  be  aware 
that  sometimes  teeth  have  to  be  pulled,  and 
that  it  is  not  so  pleasant  as  eating  gum- 
drops  or  lozenges,  which,  by  the  way,  don't 
destroy  the  teeth. 

Well,  this  child  had  to  have  her  teeth 
pulled  as  children  do  nowadays;  more  than 
this,  she  had  to  have  her  head  squeezed. 
All  the  children  had  to  endure  this,  for  the 
people  in  that  age  and  clime  got  the  notion 
328 


AN  ELDERLY  WOMAN 

into  their  minds  that  the  outsides  of  their 
heads  were  badly  shapen. 

They  must  have  thought  God  did  not 
know  how  the  human  head  ought  to  grow, 
for  they  all  undertook  to  improve  on  the 
form  He  gave  them ;  they  nearly  all  dis 
torted  their  skulls. 

What  a  blasphemous  race !  To  be  dissat 
isfied  \vith  the  form  of  head  that  the  Creator 
had  said  was  "very  good"  !  To  try  and  twist 
and  flatten  the  well-moulded  crania  they 
were  born  with ! 

"But  stop,"  something  says  to  me ;  "do 
you  mean  what  you  say?  You  insult  the 
good  people  of  our  day ;  for  do  not  the  chil 
dren — big  children  of  our  generation — pinch 
and  deform  their  bodies  to  change  their 
form?  Do  they  not  lace  their  waists  and 
squeeze  their  feet,  all  to  make  them  look  un 
like  what  God  made?" 

Well,  it  may  be  I  did  wrong  in  writing  it, 
but  it  shall  not  be  rubbed  out. 

Yes,  the  Peruvians  compressed  their 
heads.  The  process  was  begun  when  they 
were  infants  or  small  children,  for  it  can  be 
done  only  when  the  skull  is  delicate  and 
easily  moulded.  It  would  be  hard  to  twist 
the  head  after  adult  life  had  been  reached — 
that  is,  the  outside  of  the  head ;  many  of 
us  get  the  inside  terribly  twisted  after  we 
are  full  grown. 

329 


AN  ELDERLY  WOMAN 

The  more  aristocratic  people  of  that  far- 
off  old  country  made  the  pressure  on  the 
sides  of  the  head,  so  that  it  became  very 
long  and  very  narrow.  Probably  they  had  a 
desire  to  be  "long  headed" ;  and  so  they 
were,  but  not  wholly  in  the  sense  of  being 
wise. 

The  peasants  flattened  their  children's 
heads  by  placing  a  board  on  the  forehead 
and  one  on  the  back,  carrying  bandages 
around  the  whole  so  tightly  that  the  head 
was  squeezed;  the  boards  were  so  narrow 
that  the  bandages  pressed  somewhat  on 
the  sides  of  the  head,  so  that  it  could  not 
grow  long  or  wide,  but  could  only  grow 
upward.  Such  was  the  torturing  ordeal 
through  which  this  little  girl  had  to  go. 

But  she  was  told  that  it  was  to  make  her 
head  beautiful,  and  as  soon  as  she  could 
comprehend  this  she  was  glad  the  pain  had 
been  inflicted,  and  was  ready  to  undergo  far 
more  for  the  same  object. 

The  cramping  process  is  finally  finished, 
her  head  is  flattened  from  before  backwards, 
and  she  is  prepared  to  be  a  young  lady. 

Time  flies  on  and  she  becomes  a  woman, 
and  children  are  growing  up  around  her. 
She  attends  to  her  household  and  keeps  it 
seemly  and  in  order,  as  good  wives  and 
mothers  do  now.  In  her  humble  home  her 
toilet  is  not  omitted — she  is  neat  and  tidy. 
330 


AN  ELDERLY  WOMAN 

Whether  she  painted  her  cheeks  I  do  not 
know,  but  certain  it  is  she  braided  her  hair 
and  in  the  most  funny  manner,  too.  She 
had  long  hair,  and  combed  it  down  smoothly 
on  either  side,  parting  it  in  the  middle ;  then 
she  began  in  the  center  and  braided  it  down 
by  the  side  of  the  face,  taking  in  with  every 
crossing  of  a  strand  some  more  hair,  so  that 
when  done  she  had  one  long  braid  in  front 
which  was  attached  to  the  hair  the  whole  of 
the  way.  I  am  particular  to  describe  this, 
for  just  as  her  tender  fingers  arranged  it 
hundreds  of  years  ago,  has  it  remained  ever 
since ;  it  has  not  been  taken  down. 

Some  of  the  people  called  her  beautiful ; 
we  wrould  not  call  her  so  in  this  day,  for  her 
face  is  broad  and  flat,  she  has  high  cheek 
bones,  a  flat  nose  and  a  very  sharply  pointed 
chin.  Such  was  beauty  then,  not  now. 

But  in  the  prime  of  life  she  was  cut  down ; 
she  died  as  other  folks  die;  she  was  buried, 
though  not  in  shroud  or  coffin ;  but  with 
only  some  wrapping  cloth  she  was  taken  to 
the  burial  ground  by  the  seaside. 

On  the  coast  of  Peru  hardly  a  drop  of  rain 
falls  during  the  whole  year,  and  all  the 
ground  is  parched  continuously;  everything 
is  dry.  The  people  had  their  cemetery  on  a 
sand  hill;  here  they  buried  their  dead  in  a 
sitting  posture.  In  a  square  grave  they  were 
made  to  sit  upright  with  the  feet  folded  up 
331 


AN  ELDERLY  WOMAN 

under  the  body,  and  with  the  hands  crossed 
on  the  breast  or  raised  by  the  sides  of  the 
head.  Over  them  they  threw  a  sheet  or 
blanket,  and  then  covered  the  whole  with 
sand.  This  is  so  dry  and  hot  that  it  pre 
serves  the  bodies  and  they  do  not  decay; 
they  dry  up  and  do  not  crumble  to  mould. 

Such  was  the  experience  of  this  woman. 
She  died  and  was  buried;  her  family  and 
friends  mourned  her  loss ;  bitter  tears  were 
shed,  and  tender,  sympathetic  hearts  sank 
and  said  they  could  never  be  happy  again 
now  this  dear  one  had  gone. 

Time  flies  on ;  the  tears  are  dried ;  amid 
the  cares  of  life  the  mourning  weeds  are 
finally  put  aside;  her  family  grow  old  and 
die ;  soon  all  that  ever  knew  or  heard  of  her 
are  in  their  graves. 

America  has  been  discovered  by  Colum 
bus.  Europeans  come  and  conquer  Peru; 
they  come  and  settle  North  America.  Many 
generations  pass  away.  A  noble  man,  whose 
name  is  Smithson,  founds  an  institution  for 
the  diffusion  of  knowledge — the  Smithson 
ian  Institution.  This  sends  a  man  to  Peru 
who  finds  in  the  sand  this  woman.  She  is,  at 
last,  sent  to  Chicago,  and  in  our  happy 
family,  behold  her,  a  repulsive  object,  a 
dried  body,  a  mummy. 


332 


To  an  Old  Broom 


To  an  Old  Broom 


By  a  Bachelor 

0  Broom,  thou  long  and  well  hast  served, 
From  duty  thou  hast  never  swerved, 

But  now  we  two  must  part ; 
And  while  I  say  my  last  good-bye, 
A  friendly  tear  invades  my  eye, 

And  sadness  fills  my  heart. 

But  thou  art  growing  old,  and  years 

Have  bowed  thy  form,  though  yet  appears 

No  gray  thy  locks  among; 
They're  thin  and  short,  and  thou  must  own 
Thy  strength  and  beauty  all  have  flown — 

Thou  art  no  longer  young. 

1  never  yet  have  heard  thee  scold, 
But  ever  modest,  never  bold 

Or  rash!    Ne'er  raised  above 
My  head,  in  omen  strange  and  dire, 
By  woman's  hand,  to  quell  my  ire 

Or  charm  me  into  love. 

335 


TO  AN  OLD  BROOM 

Although  thy  toil  has  been  in  dust, 
Without  complaint,  and  free  from  rust 

Hast  thou  been  found,  and  clean; 
And  in  thy  habits  staid  hast  taught 
Me  much  that's  good,  so  not  for  naught 

Has  all  thy  life-work  been. 

I  say  adieu  with  tender  grace, 
And  call  another  to  thy  place, 
With  comelier  form  and  brighter  face, 

To  sweep  and  keep  my  room; 
To  be  my  helper  at  my  side 
Assisting  o'er  life's  dreary  tide — 
To  be  my  solace  and  my — pride, 

I  take  another  broom. 


336 


BOOKS  BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR  : 

The  Penalties  of  Taste 

and  Other  Essays  pp.  164 

The  Rewards  of  Taste 

and  Other  Essays  pp.  270 

House  Health 

and  Other  Papers  pp.  204 

DUFFIELD  &  COMPANY 
NEW  YORK 


Tuberculosis 

Lectures  at  Rush  Medical  College 

of  the  University  of  Chicago         pp.  302 

W.  B.  SAUNDERS  &  COMPANY 

PHILADELPHIA  NEW  YORK 

LONDON 


UNIVEESITY  OF  CALIFOKNIA   LIBRAEY 
BERKELEY 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE   ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 

Books  not  returned  on  time  are  subject  to  a  fine  of 
50c  per  volume  after  the  third  dav  overdue,  increasing 
to  $1.00  per  volume  after  the  sixth  day.  Books  not  in 
demand  may  be  renewed  if  application  is  made  before 
expiration  of  loan  period. 


AUG  9  191V 
Al'G  9  1919 


50m-7,'16 


YB   13424 


313540 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


